


Blue & Green

by AngelinaHeartstone



Category: Darkest Powers - Kelley Armstrong
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, And A Good Guy, Based on my own family, Blood and Violence, Chloe and Derek are oblivious, Chloe has a stalker, Chloe has mommy issues, Derek has daddy issues, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Kit is emotionally toxic, Mentions of Derek's mom, Mentions of Simon's mom, Murder, Rated For Violence, Rated for Death, Stalking, Werewolf Mates, Zachary Cain is alive, necromancer - Freeform, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelinaHeartstone/pseuds/AngelinaHeartstone
Summary: His green eyes bore into her. They were familiar and she’d looked into them for years. He was her rock.Best friends Chloe and Derek struggle to keep their footing as the world implodes with Chloe's new stepmom and stepsister in the picture while a stalker chases her and Derek tries to come to terms with who his father is and why he wants to be in his life now.Originally posted on FF.net.
Relationships: Chloe Saunders/Derek Souza
Kudos: 1





	1. How Wicked Is the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Note! This story was written in 2015, so some of things I wrote are not accurate to how I think now. Still I wanted to share the story.

* * *

* * *

How Wicked Is the Night

* * *

* * *

It had been raining heavily the night before, soaking the ground and the cold front that had swept through Buffalo had frozen what rain was left into a thin sheet of slippery ice. A miserable and deadly combination.

Seventeen-year-old Chloe tugged her oversized jacket tighter around her shivering frame as she stomped her feet, mud sucking at her boots.

“Why does your dad live so far away in the woods?” asked the tall, dark-haired girl beside her, squinting up into the bare branches.

“Tori, I don’t know. After my mom passed, he kind of just stopped functioning altogether,” Chloe said, brushing her curls away from her face as she peered down the muddy trail anxiously.

“That doesn’t mean you can take off,” Tori grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, I’ve gotta go. I’m with Diane this weekend.” Her lip curled. “Be careful!”

Chloe smiled and waved back. “I will!” But as Tori’s jerky running figure grew smaller and smaller, she felt a sharp wave of fear and the prickle that someone was watching her closely. She turned and she caught a glimpse of a deer bolting away.

Her cheeks heated. _Don’t be stupid_ , she told herself, _it’s just your imagination._ Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, gripping her backpack straps, and headed down the long, winding path.

As her feet took her farther and farther from town, she felt a growing sense of dread.

The sky was darkening as she continued down the trail, feeling her heart beat faster and faster, loud and clear in her ears. Twigs snapped and bare branches rustled, the sound dry and frightening.

 _It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s nothing_ , she chanted as she picked up the pace, keeping her eyes on the trail. Suddenly, she ran hard into something.

Strong, hot arms encircled her.

She let out a shrill scream and flailed her arms wildly.

“Calm down, Jesus, I won’t hurt you,” sighed a familiar voice.

Chloe tilted her head back and let a smile crawl across her face.

It was her good friend Ramon, his dark hair falling in chunks around his high, jutting cheekbones and scraping just shy of his flirty smile. His black leather jacket was damp to the touch and, when she pulled away, she found it was slick with something thick and red.

“Are you—” she began, wide-eyed as she took in his bruised lips, swollen nose, and various cuts and scrapes.

“I’m fine, cupcake,” he laughed, patting her head but his split lip made his words sound thick. “You should see the other wolf.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Where are you off to? It’s supposed to rain something horrible tonight,” he said, finger tracing a cut on his cheek. “’Sides, isn’t this place full of dead critters? Remember last time you came into the woods? You scared the entire town shitless by accidentally—”

“Stop!” she shrieked, hand flying to clamp over his mouth. “Don’t talk about it or I-I’ll…” Her voice wavered.

“Sorry. Slipped my mind.” He leaned back, hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’m off to my dad’s. Aunt Lauren said he was sick.” She shrugged a shoulder, shaking the contents of her tiny backpack.

“Some soup?” He took a place at her side, and together they made their way to her father’s isolated cabin.

* * *

When someone answered the door, Chloe was startled to see a pretty woman with dark eyes instead of the face of her runny-nosed father.

“Oh,” Chloe said, eyes widening.

The woman was very attractive with a figure that screamed she worked out on the regular and a dark brown complexion. Her yellow-brown eyes fluttered to Ramon, lowering a bit, and then to Chloe, an elegantly manicured hand reaching to twist a copper-brown braid around a finger, a strike contrast against her red-painted nails.

“Steve?”

Since when did pretty women who weren't her mom—that her father had never, ever mentioned previously—call her dad by _first name?_

Her sweater stretched across her wide hips when she turned back and rose up, revealing a small, circular tattoo on her right hip. It looked like a crescent moon.

Chloe glanced at Ramon.

He nodded.

So this woman was a werewolf just like Ramon and Derek.

“What is it, Jacinda?” Chloe’s dad called as he walked out of the kitchen, dressed in his worn jeans and a gray cable-knit sweater, looking very healthy and very happy.

She clenched her jaw. “Aunt Lauren made you soup,” she managed to choke out, blinking away the hot tears filling her eyes. “She said you were sick but I can see that you obviously aren’t.”

“Sweetie—” Steve looked torn.

“You could’ve just told me,” she said softly. “I would’ve been happy for you. Did Aunt Lauren know? Does the entire damn town know? How do I, your own _daughter_ , not know?” Her voice was rising, shriller and shriller, the sound making her ears ring with the ferocity and intensity.

The tears made themselves known, spilling down from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

Jacinda stepped forward. “I thought you did know,” she murmured in a soft, slight accented voice. She looked genuinely concerned.

“Apparently, no one tells me shit around here!” Chloe spat.

“Language!” Steve hissed.

“Don’t act like you care just because your girlfriend’s here. I bet you didn't even tell her you have a fucking kid. Oh, now I see why you're never home—you're too busy jumping into bed with the first lady to look at you.” Her voice cracked, to her growing anger and horror. “Fuck off!” she yelled and threw the bag at him, hearing it crash to the floor when Steve dropped it. Soup spread across the fabric, darkening it.

Chloe turned on her heel and ran.

Ramon said something she didn’t catch before he, too, bolted.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Those were the first words out of her best friend Derek’s mouth when she saw down on the embankment next to him and pressed her face into his bicep.

He gently stroked her hair, letting her cry and run snot all over his arm until she couldn’t cry anymore and handed her a crumpled pack of Kleenex.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she took one and blew her nose. “I just—I wish he’d told me, you know? Instead of just keeping quiet,” she whispered, her voice thick from crying.

Below them was the bank of a little creek and she threw a flat stone angrily into it.

“Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you,” he said and she squinted at him.

“I understand that but—but—”

“But what?” He wrapped a thick, hard arm around her and she sighed, tearing at the clean side of the Kleenex.

She felt a calm wash over her as he rocked them gently; she loved being in his arms, being close to him.

“It’s Rae’s mom,” she blurted.

“The same Rae who showed up completely fucked up to your mom’s funeral?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

They relaxed until he broke the silence.

“Well, shit.”


	2. Sins of the Father

* * *

* * *

Sins of the Father

* * *

* * *

Derek’s hand felt sweaty and warm against hers as they walked along the path, carefully avoiding the sore subject of her father and Jacinda.

“Can it _get_ any muddier?” she asked, wincing as she heard how shrill and whiny her voice sounded. Derek nodded but didn’t part his lips to speak.

Her head pounded and it felt like a pickaxe being driven into her skull, sharp and incessant. _My dad’s marrying the mother of the girl who ruined my mother’s funeral, showing up high and stoned as shit._ She squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute, holding his arms down to her as he stepped over a half-rotted log. His hands lingered on her waist. “It must be so shitty,” he continued, wrapping a hard, warm arm around her shoulders, pressing her firmly into his side, “to find out that way.”

She nodded, leaning heavily into his muscular frame.

“Derek?” she asked sleepily, feet dragging; he all but carried her down the path.

“Yeah?” His breath was warm and his voice even warmer.

“Thanks for…being you,” she murmured before her eyes closed.

He grunted something might’ve been a response.

* * *

When Chloe woke up, she wasn’t in her bed. Above her there was a spotted ceiling that was familiar as her own except it wasn’t a light gray. Underneath her was a lumpy couch that she was certain wasn’t in her house. Blinking hard, she sat up and noticed the light, tan walls, the short carpet, the water-stained coffee table.

Definitely not her house.

Photos of a blond boy, two dark-haired men, and a dark-haired girl confirmed her inkling.

She was in Derek’s house; she knew it like the back of her hand. Over the years, Chloe had been there enough that it felt like a home away from home.

A movement to her left made her look that way.

Derek stood in the doorway from the stairs and walked over, carrying a glass of water.

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, running her hands through her hair and taking the glass from him.

He cleared his throat several times, flopping down beside her.

He’d taken off his bulky black sweatshirt and his boots, she noticed. His T-shirt, no doubt Tori’s doing to her brother, hugged his biceps and she found her eyes running over him, all the planes of his face and the hard muscles he hid under baggy shirts.

“You fell asleep. We’re at my house since Lauren’s still at the hospital,” he told her.

“Oh,” was all she said. Quickly, she lowered her head and averted her eyes, instead focusing on the thread on the end of her sleeve that was unraveling.

Derek wrapped his arm around her shoulders like always, and she sank into his side, feeling tears fill her eyes.

“I’m so _sick_ of his shit. He doesn’t get to do this,” she croaked, burying her face into her hands to hide the crying. “It’s like this all the time and he never tells me _anything_. You think he’d trust me enough to tell me. Oh, let's spring a new stepmom on my kid!”

He pressed a kiss against her hair and stroked up and down her arm. “He’s a total dick. He’s probably just acting out. Simon used to do that when he was a kid. Throw things, break stuff to get my dad’s attention.”

She pulled away from him and scowled. “S-Simon was like seven,” she argued.

“So?”

“My dad’s like forty-something.” Frowning, she placed her head back on his shoulder.

“Maybe…he’s moved on.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be a total ass and not tell me he’s dating Rae’s mom. She came to the funeral high as shit! I still hear about it. Lauren complains about her all the time.”

They fell into a lapsing silence.

“Chloe?”

She turned, startled, and found her dad standing in the open front door, looking sheepish.

Derek snarled under his breath as he unwound his arm from around her and got to his feet faster than she’d ever seen. His eyes were narrow and dark as he advanced, every muscle in his body rigid.

Steve squeaked in fear and backed up, shifting behind Jacinda.

_He’s such a weakling._

“Derek, calm down,” Chloe sighed and noticed the women on either side of her dad. The smaller of the two was hiding behind him like she didn’t want to be seen.

Jacinda stepped forward. “I hope you aren’t angry still. I thought he told you” —here she turned and glared at Steve, who rubbed the back of his neck like a schoolboy— “and I apologize that he didn’t. I won’t put it against you if you are angry, however, but I hope you can look past it and not hold it against me.”

“Sure,” Derek sneered, “make yourself at home. Come _right_ in.” He fell back and slumped against the couch, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

“Stop sulking,” Chloe said, kicking away the afghan that had been covering her legs, and hitting him lightly on his hip.

He lifted his lip at her.

“Is that Derek?” a new voice asked as the smaller woman stepped out from behind Steve and Jacinda where she’d been completely obscured. The woman wasn’t a woman at all but a girl around Chloe's age with a tan complexion and dark curls that flounced when she walked.

Chloe was frozen in shock and horror as Rae stepped lightly into the room, her eyes wide with surprise as they took Derek in, scanning him from head to toe.

“Where’s…Chloe.” It had started out as a question and twisted into a one-worded answer.

Rae’s dark eyes, no longer bloodshot, stared at Chloe, drinking her in.

“Shit,” they whispered in unison.


	3. A Bond of Stepsisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Discussions of character death, drug overdoses, implications of self-harm & drug abuse

* * *

* * *

A Bond of Stepsisters

* * *

* * *

Much to Chloe’s surprise, Rae had changed drastically. She wasn’t the same persons she’d been years ago, a bottle constantly in her hand or reeking of weed, disappearing with boys into dark rooms at parties.

“Bipolar,” Jacinda had explained softly, stroking her daughter’s coppery braids as Rae shook a bottle.

“Doctor prescribed,” she’d said proudly, and her smile faltered, something sad igniting in her eyes.

“Why don’t you two get to know each other?” Steve suggested, wrapping a possessive arm around the woman who didn’t even closely resemble a mother to Chloe.

Shrugging like it didn’t matter, the girls left.

“You want to know what changed, don’t you?” Rae whispered, flopping down on the couch, and Chloe watched her kick off her platform flip flops. “Royce overdosed. It was Halloween and we were all in his basement, smoking some shit he got from a guy named Brady. I don’t remember much except waking up in the bathtub. It was so quiet.”

Her arms wrapped around her knees and the blonde caught a glimpse of the track marks from years of using. “His uncle came downstairs. Found Ramon passed out in the corner of the room. Amber was puking her guts out. And Royce?”

A short little laugh crossed her mouth. “He wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.”

A deep, shuddering breath hissed as Rae began to cry. “He’d overdosed on the cocaine we had. When Dr. Banks saw us, he didn’t freak out like I expected. He calmly helped Amber swallow some medicine for her stomach and put her in a guest room. Ramon wasn’t stoned enough not to go home so he left.” Pausing, she wiped her nose on her arm.

Chloe handed her the box of tissues they kept on the coffee table.

With peanut-brittle eyes, Rae sniffled a thank you.

“He calmly called the paramedics, who pronounced him dead, and he sat with me while my mom answered questions from the police. She took one look at the body bag and broke down. Only time I ever saw my mom cry was when she saw the scars on my body.”

A dry laugh barked out of her dark lips. “After that, Dr. Banks convinced me to go see a therapist and helped me in rehab. I was an addict, Chloe, but I was also so fucked up for so long.” Her wet eyes blinked sadly.

“Rae, I-I—”

“No. Don’t apologize. Truth be told, I deserve everything I got. I gave shit and I received it. But I’m better. I want to start new.” When she shook her head, her braids flew everywhere. “I want to be your _friend_ , Chloe. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

When she burst into more tears, Chloe wrapped an arm around her. “You’re too nice, goddamn it.”

“Y-you m-ma-ade a mis-istake,” the blonde argued gently.

Rae didn’t reply only sat up and offered a watery smile and a Kleenex.

* * *

“He _what_?” Liz whispered brokenly, eyes wide and horrified.

Tori remained grim-faced.

Rae fidgeted. “Royce overdosed last year. I know because I was there. His death made me turn my life around and I-I…” She took a deep breath. “I want to apologize. I was a shitty friend with a shitty state of mind and I won’t be surprised if you don’t want me anymore.”

Chloe was proud of Rae.

Since she spilled the truth (confirmed by both Jacinda and a quiet-voiced Todd Banks and the obituary records at the Malloys’ funeral parlor), things had gone smoothly.

Since there wasn’t much room for her in the cottage, they’d decided that she’d live with Chloe and Lauren for the time being. Rae moved into the guest room across from her and they’d unpacked the boxes of clothes and magazines, of trinkets gathered over the years.

Right now, she looked like she was on the edge of being shattered into a million fragments, her toffee skin ashy and taut on her face. Her hands were gripping her skirt with a frightening force.

“I don’t trust you,” Tori stated finally, crossing her legs and flashing purple panties.

Chloe lowered her eyes, embarrassed.

“But we _will_ accept you, of course, once you earn our trust,” Liz quipped, laying a loving hand on Tori’s sharp shoulder and they looked so weird together, like something out of a high school romance movie, the bubbly head cheerleader and the snarky computer rocker, but their personalities, although polar opposites, melded perfectly.

Rae sniffled and broke into a smile. “Of course,” she breathed, and Chloe grinned.

“Of course what?” someone asked behind them, and she whipped around.

Kari, Beth and Nate stood behind them, Kari’s bad sunburn making Beth seem even paler in comparison, and Nate’s spiky red hair was like a beacon compared to Kari’s golden dreads and Beth’s curtain of inky hair.

“Nothing,” Tori drawled, reclining slowly down on the grass and crossing her legs at the ankles.

They were all seated outside the public library, lounging in the grass as kids played in the park across the street, college students congregating on the wide, ivory steps in groups.

Chloe tilted her head back against the rays of sunlight, surveying her clique.

Rae, Tori and Liz wore skirts; Kari wore leggings with holes in the knees; Beth and Nate had on basketball shorts; and the blonde girl wore jeans.

“I mean, _come on_ _,_ it’s not cold,” Kari argued, dreadlocks bouncing as she flopped down beside Chloe unceremoniously and drew in the air with her finger.

“It’s freezing,” the curly-haired girl argued, wrapping her hands in Derek’s sweatshirt as Nate slowly lowered himself to the ground and Beth followed suit, their shoulders touching.

Chloe’s stomach hurt.

They were jostling each other, pushing in closer and closer, drowning her, crowing and she frantically made a decision.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chloe stammered, pushing herself to her feet. A painful lump rose in her throat, a tell tale sign. _Please, hold on_ _,_ she told herself fiercely.

Tori eyed her languidly.

Liz laughed at something Rae said.

Rae stared at her with a mix of sadness and confusion.

“I’ve got…got stuff to do.”

Without another word, she fled.

* * *

Quiet as a mouse, Chloe stole into the untouched room. Everything was exactly as she remembered it. With every step, she felt all her worries melting away, dissolving.

She ran a hand along her mother’s vanity of dusty lipsticks and brushes and watched the particles swirl around her fingers. An ache washed over her fiercely, and she bit her cheek to keep from crying out.

After her mother’s death, Lauren had marched in and removed all pictures from the walls, replacing them with her own.

Steve was too distraught to stop his sister in law but it was Chloe who’d jumped between her mother’s (and, previously father’s) room and wouldn’t back down, regardless of Lauren’s determination to rid herself of any painful reminders.

Only when Chloe had screamed and threatened and argued herself hoarse did Lauren retreat.

A lifeless smile graced her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, blinking away the rapid onslaught of tears in her eyes, “I just felt…felt so trapped. Rae, Jacinda, Steve…everyone.” Her legs crumpled and she hit the floor soundless, ignoring the dust that exploded around her in clouds.

Slowly, she crawled close to her mother’s bed and climbed up on it, nestling herself in the rumpled, stale bed sheets and comforters.

Even after twelve years, the bed sheets smelled like lilac.


	4. Welcome to the Family

* * *

* * *

Welcome to the Family

* * *

* * *

The wedding would be in December. Lots of Jacinda’s family. Most of Steve’s family was dead including his previous wife, his parents, and their daughter.

No, the daughter was standing in the bathroom, staring at her reflection, very much a ghost as opposed to a human girl. Chloe turned her head from side to side. She was gaunt-faced with sad eyes and brittle hair. The image staring back had been the same for years, wasting away and it wasn’t leaving.

She remembered a time where she would sit outside until her thighs were golden and then red, peeling with sunburn.

Sticky ice cream dribbling downs her fingers, licked away by the puppies she met on the pier. Salty ocean waves hitting her feet, Derek beside her. Tori’s reluctant enjoyment during the water balloon fights with Liz and Simon.

Buttery, salty popcorn kernels caught between Chloe’s teeth while they sat in the dark. Playing in the trees, squealing when Derek scooped her up. Sticky sweat making them grimy while they ran.

Tall, wet glasses of lemonade on the lawn.

She sighed tiredly and turned away from the sad-eyed girl in the mirror. Hair scraped her shoulders, painfully brittle.

“Chloe?” It was Rae, knocking quietly on the door.

Stomach twisting into knots, Chloe pulled open the bathroom door and forced a smile. Everything around her was breaking, shattering, but as long as she slapped on a smile and said, “I’m fine” enough, no one would ever know.

Rae’s hair, now free of its braids, was pulled into a bun, pieces sticking up and that’s when Chloe saw the red-purple hickey on her neck.

“Who?” The blonde’s voice came out tiny and weak; she sounded pathetic almost.

“No one.” Rae’s almond eyes dropped as she brushed passed the shorter girl. “At least, not officially,” she added with a cheeky grin before closing the door.

 _Not again,_ Chloe thought quietly, _please don’t let this turn out like Royce._

Jacinda was in the kitchen planning the wedding invitations.

Cream envelopes, brown lacy trim, elegant handwriting.

_Dear (whoever), you are invited to Jacinda Rodgers and Steve Saunders’ wedding, December twenty-first._

Something sour filled Chloe’s mouth as she stood there, staring at the invitations. Her mind was shifting backwards.

Tiny chubby hands gripping the edge of the counter, she balanced on the top of the chair.

_Mommy was looking through old photos, pasting them and cutting them into funny shapes. Long strips of ribbon and lace were crumpled in piles, haphazardly placed around the table._

“ _Mommy,” she called as she pushed her finger against the thick, beige envelopes, “what’s that?”_

_Mommy looked up, smiling softly._

“ _Daddy and Mommy’s wedding invitations. When you get married, you have to invite people.” She pulled Chloe up onto her lap, pulling an envelope closer and popping the seal with her thumbnail. The smell of musty paper and old wax rose from the stack of invitations._

“ _Mommy, what does it say?” She was rocking excitedly._

_Mommy laughed, ruffling her hair. “Dear Lauren Fellows, you are invited to Steve and—”_

“Chloe?”

She blinked hard.

Bright fluorescent lights flickered above her, throwing the tan face staring up at her worriedly into dangerously sharp contrast.

“You okay?” Jacinda had paused mid-letter, ink soaking the paper, ruining it but all her attention was focused on Chloe.

Something sour burned in the girl’s mouth as she forced her feet to move, pushing herself towards the backdoor. As she thrust the door open, she heard Rae’s mom ask, “Where are you going?”

She couldn’t have answered even if she wanted to.

She wandered. Her sneakers crunched gravel and leaves and mud. Her eyes took in the barren trees, grassy hills, long rivers; although, she hardly noticed any of it.

Everything was blurry through the permanent film of tears in her eyes. The icy wind pierced her skin, reminding of her lack of jacket or scarf, and she shivered, hugging herself tightly.

Seeing Jacinda sitting there in place of her mother, head bowed, long fingers writing the wedding invitations just like Jennifer did all those years ago, made something inside Chloe shatter, shards piercing.

Ducking under a low-hanging branch, she continued on. Bugs crawled under her feet; birds sang lonely songs for each other, meant for only their ears; sunlight streamed down from between the long, gnarled branches.

In the forest, everything had melted away, all of her anxieties and the headaches and the sadness of her mother’s death; all of it just vanished. Right now, it was just Chloe, the birds, and the trees.

Her breath escaped her lips in a transparent cloud as she shivered, wondering if Jacinda was even worried or if anyone even noticed she was gone.

She knew, without a doubt, that she was being biased towards the young woman who’d captured her father’s broken heart and mended him but the raw pain of her mother’s slow death was still fresh.

Years had done nothing to dull the pain, nothing to bring any sort of closure for her. Sure, Lauren and Steve had obviously moved on, taking down her photos and auctioning off her things.

The only thing Chloe had was that damn room.

Her foot missed a step and she slipped, landing hard enough on her ass to knock the breath from her lungs. Cold shock shot up her back as she realized she’d stepped off the embankment and was now tumbling down the incline.

It was a little exhilarating and scary, tumbling head-over-heels in an unknown place, not knowing what was at the bottom or if she would hurt herself terribly and end up on the news (fifteen-year-old girl found dead) but it was freeing, the rush of falling, everything leaving for sweet, ignorant moment.

She stopped after a long time, head spinning and her knee stinging. Twigs and leaves fell out of her hair, off her clothes. She sat up, blinking, disorientated.

It was a huge, silent clearing.

Lots of long, tall grass, the outskirts hugged by trees and hidden by their line, far off was some sort of pond and something lying on the ground.

Chloe got to her feet slowly, taking her time to brush the dead underbrush debris from her legs and hair. She calmly picked up her lost shoe (when had that happened?) and headed over to the water.

She was in the midst of kneeling down, staring at her reflection—bloodshot eyes, messy hair chunky with mud, scrapes and was that a twig in her bra strap?—when she heard a voice shout, “Hey!”

Turning so she could watch the person, she felt all fear vanish. No crazed lunatic holding a bloody knife or a demon hellbent on destroying her.

Just Ramon, his black hair slick and a scarf around his throat, tight jeans clinging to his sharp legs, who asked, calmly, “Would you like some help?”

In all honestly, she should’ve said no, shouldn’t have broke down. But she did. “Yes,” she croaked, “If that’s alright.”

He held out a hand and smiled. “It is.”


	5. Something About the Woods

* * *

* * *

Something about the Woods

* * *

* * *

Ramon escorted her home after patching her scrapes with some band-aids.

The sky was a gradient of purple, pink, red, and orange, with fluffy cotton candy pink clouds and a huge peep yellow ball sinking into the skyline. The air was cool and nipped at her skin like tiny slivers of glass, flushing her cheeks in a blood blush, freezing her fingertips into ice cubes.

Ramon let her borrow his jacket and it smelled like sweat and bonfire smoke, silky and sweet.

The walk back was quiet and cool, night slowly descending down over the sky, over the town, twinkling stars and a soft, lush moon.

Jets passed loudly overhead. Kids chased each other, wearing T-shirts despite the chill in the air, and people in general milled about.

The smells of the bakeries filled the air with warm, gooey bread and sweets. Stores played Christmas ads loudly, jingling bells and singing Hallelujahs.

“Almost Christmas, eh?” Chloe asked, burrowing herself deeper into his jacket.

His shoulder bumped hers, and he flashed her a crooked grin; in the half-light of the streetlights, he looked handsome and youthful, with round cheeks and curls darker than ink.

“Yeah. Lots of time to spend with my boyfriend,” Ramon sighed.

“Who is he?” She was curious.

“Simon.”

She tripped over an uneven edge of the sidewalk, and he caught her arm quickly, righting her.

Some kids on roller blades and skateboards swept passed them, kicking up dead leaves. A cold gust of wind followed them.

“S-Simon?” she stuttered, feeling her cheeks heat up.

“Yeah. After Royce died, we bumped into each other at the cemetery and started talking about the dead.” He gave a short, uneasy laugh. “Kind of weird to hook up but we actually bonded. I got the courage to ask him out, he said yes, and that’s that. It was about four months ago.” The smile on his mouth was cool and minty.

“So how’d you end up in the woods?” he asked, calmly, like it was casual question.

“My dad’s getting remarried to Jacinda.”

“Jacinda?” His voice echoed his disbelief.

“Yeah. She just…It reminded me of my mom so I just started w-walking.”

They turned at the huge town square.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Losing someone you love and then having them replaced.”

“Yeah.”

They walked in silence, and it was very, very nice.

* * *

It was dark outside, streetlights on, around fifty degrees outside, when Chloe opened the door to her house. Ramon had left, offering her his jacket, but she handed it back to him.

The house was dead silent.

Jacinda and Steve must’ve gone back to the cabin and Lauren was working another late shift.

The only people home were the dogs, Amber and Brady, who greeted her with wet noses, lots of kisses, and barking.

She peeled off her sneakers as she headed up the stairs, ignoring the jumping shadows and creaking wood.

She eased off her socks and stuffed them into her shoes. Her fly was unbuttoned, zipped down. Her shirt was pulled off as she opened her bedroom door. Her brain was sluggish, pushing her through the motions. Her shirt, jeans and bra hit the floor, replaced by pajamas. Eventually, she found the soft, downy comforter of her bed and flopped down onto it.

The dogs scratched at the back door downstairs so she dragged herself up and out of her room, snatching her bathrobe on the way down the steps. The grandfather clock in the kitchen struck midnight as she opened the door and waited for the dogs to pee. The trees hugging the yard swayed and shimmered in the breeze, casting wicked shadows onto the grass.

Amber waddled off towards the mulched flower garden. Brady sniffed around for the longest time.

Chloe shivered and rocked back and forth on her feet, trying hard not to just head back inside and leave them to their business. As tired as she was, she couldn’t bear the idea of them sitting in the icy temperatures and freezing to death. So she sucked it up and cuddled herself.

Amber was the first one inside; squeezing passed the blonde’s frozen legs. She squinted to see Brady and watched him square off with something in the woods.

A long, slow howl pierced the silent night.

Brady started barking like crazy, fur on end, and even Amber, sweet little Corgi Amber, had her hackles raised, teeth bared and black lips peeled back away from them.

“Brady!” Chloe called sharply to the huge, bulky German Shepard and his head whipped her way.

In the brush, she could see two glowing green eyes staring straight at her, and froze, mouth opening and closing.

She knew the town had werewolves (Ramon and Jacinda and Derek) but she’d never seen any, at least, not in wolf form.

They normally kept to themselves or to their packs and federal law stated that they keep a specific grounds set aside for pack runs.

“Brady!” she called again once she found her voice.

The two animals squared off for a little while longer before the wolf stepped into the yard, huge and black with green eyes just like Derek’s, and then it was gone, racing back into the shadows of the trees.

Brady snarled and barked after it before heading back inside, licking the dirt from his paws as he slid into his bed.

She gave them some more water and each a treat and headed back upstairs but not before checking through all the rooms to make sure the windows were locked. She locked the front door and back door and, when she got into her room, locked the bathroom door, her bedroom door, and the window.

As she curled up under the cool blankets, struggling to stay warm and watching the lush moon outside, she had a brief thought.

_That was Derek, I’m sure of it._


	6. Rise of the Nefarious Intentions

* * *

* * *

Rise of the Nefarious Intentions

* * *

* * *

Rays of early morning sunlight fell in slants across Chloe’s lids as she stirred, hearing the dogs barking madly at nothing in particular.

The girl in question pulled herself upright and stretched leisurely, first shaking her arms out and then her legs, arching her back off the bed. Bones popped and she groaned in relief, touching her toes to the floor below.

Pushing her curls away from her face, she stumbled to the bathroom and inspected her sleepy face, creases from her pillowcase and frizzy hair knotted all over the place.

“I look horrible,” she whispered to her sleep-tossed reflection, running the cold water over her half-awake hands.

The temperature shocked away the last wisps of her fatigue and she splashed her face, shivering. Once she was energized, she combed her hair out and brushed her teeth.

After that, she got dressed and crammed down a dry breakfast of cold chicken nuggets and headed out to town.

* * *

She ran into a guy at a local, popular pizzeria, carrying a mountain of hot pizza boxes into the kitchen area while a brown-haired guy manned the counter, carrying huge plates back and forth between customers at the bar.

“Welcome to Carson and Company’s Pizzeria,” droned the pizza-carrying guy as a tiny, muscular redhead bounded out of the kitchen carrying a huge platter of food. She wheeled around him, wedged the door open with her heel, and then she was skipping to a table full of screaming kids and exhausted adults.

“Uh,” Chloe managed to mutter.

The man looked at the counter looked up and smiled fondly. “What can I do for you?” he asked politely, clearing away some empty plates from the counter. She squirmed under his calm, knowing gaze and looked away.

A dark-haired customer smiled at her and then took his leave.

“Hey, stop flirting with jail-bait,” said the guy who’d carried the boxes as he came out carrying a red bag, tucking his hair into a black baseball cap with the logo stitched across the bill. He slowed considerably when he noticed Chloe.

There was something familiar about his predatory gait, his broad shoulders. He shifted the bill out of his eyes and his eyes met hers. Jade, the ones she’d known since she was a child.

“D-Derek?” she squeaked in surprise and pulled away, stumbling into someone heading outside.

“Hey, watch it,” the person she bumped into snarled as he twisted away and shouldered passed her.

Wincing, she stepped out of the way, and Derek wrapped his fingers around her biceps, steadying her. Her face heated like a stove-top hot, and she pulled away, wide-eyed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping one hand on her arm in case she stumbled and brought down several bystanders with her.

“Oh, um, I just…” She trailed off as she tugged at her hair, twirling the ends around her finger.

“I’m heading out,” he said to the man at the counter.

“Chloe, my boss Andrew. Andrew, my best friend Chloe.”

A huge smile split Andrew’s weathered face and left her feeling a bit awkward.

She smiled shyly, nervously, but his smile never faltered.

“I-I should go,” she sputtered as she backed up and then turned, all but running out of the restaurant.

He made her feel flayed open, as though he was picking her apart piece by piece, examine the gears inside her that made her the girl she was.

She had the prickling sensation that he would chop her up and experiment if he had the chance.

Hopefully, he’d never get it.

* * *

It was nearing mid-afternoon when Andrew dropped by, unannounced, unexpectedly. He was dressed up, a button-down and slacks where as she had just gotten done with a run, sweat-soaked tank and baggy shorts, towel draped over her shoulders.

“Is your aunt home?” he asked.

“Um,” Chloe muttered, unsure of how to approach him without letting him know how terrified he made her.

His smile broadened a tiny bit, as though he was enjoying her internal monologue, as though he were a predator tasting her fear.

“Why do you need her?” she asked.

His eyes roamed upwards to her face, that grin never slipping. “I have some files for her. We work at the same hospital.”

“I thought you ran the pizzeria.” Her eyebrows rose.

He snorted, amused. “That’s a hobby. I’m a mortician,” he said, waving a few files at her with big, red Jane Doe stamped across the folder. “She has horrible handwriting,” he laughed.

Chloe squirmed.

“Did you just come back from a run?” He leaned against the door frame, one foot tucked into the space between the edge of the door and the frame to keep her from closing it— she was certain of it.

Her faint unease rose painfully, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. Fear prickled behind her eyes as he dipped his head down.

“Oh, um, y-yes,” she squeaked and his gaze dropped low, all over her body. “I-I have to go,” she blurted, even though it was a lie.

His eyes slide back to hers and it was clear he didn’t buy it.

“Alright,” he said and his head nodded as he turned tail and jogged down the brick steps. She watched him weave down the driveway, whistling “Mr. Sandman” as he went.

Chloe closed the door and backed away after she slid the deadbolt to the locked position.

From the window next to the door, she sat there, curled up with her knees against her chest, waiting for her aunt to come home.

If she told her aunt about Andrew, she was certain Lauren would make a big deal and freak out. Besides, it was probably her imagination playing tricks her, making her see a threat that wasn’t at all present in such a sweet guy.

Still her mouth tasted like blood and she was prickled all over, hair standing on end.

“Chloe,” her aunt cried when she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, clasping at her chest.

Chloe jerked at the words, waking immediately, and she toppled off the ledge.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded once she helped her niece up onto her feet.

“Oh, um, it was s-so nice and su-unny that I de-decided to relax in the sun. I must’ve fallen a-asleep,” the blonde lied, her voice shaking with every word.

Lauren squinted. “Go get ready for dinner,” she said with pursed lips. She shook the bag in her hand.

Chloe smiled shakily and headed upstairs.

“Thanks.”


	7. A Date With Distrustful Men

* * *

* * *

A Date With Distrustful Men

* * *

* * *

After Chloe met Andrew, she began to notice him everywhere.

Outside of school, sitting in his car while he smoked a cigarette and read the paper.

In the little bistro where she worked part-time as a waitress.

Tailing her in the supermarket when she went shopping.

It gave her the creeps, making the tops of her thighs and arms break out in goosebumps. As freaked out as she was, she didn’t tell anyone. She figured it was her overactive imagination; now that she knew him, she could see his face everywhere everyone went, pointing him out easily.

Lauren was in high spirits, prancing about the house while she put on earrings and wiggled into heels every night, claiming to be going to the hospital but Chloe had a very strong sense that she was flat-out lying; why else would a neurosurgeon wear heels and little dresses to a  _ hospital _ , where she would be exposed to blood and gore and feces? Why else would she put on a full face of makeup and jewelry? 

There would be no reason.

“I’m going to be late tonight,” Lauren said to her, clicking across the kitchen, adjusting her breasts in her low-cut dress while she put in her earrings, hanging low to her shoulders, swishing with every step. Her hair fell in loose curls around her face, making it softer than ever, hanging to mid-breast in soft ringlets. The apples of her cheeks were rosy, red even, but Chloe couldn’t figure out whether or not it was from blush or excitement.

The blonde looked up from her homework, something with lots of numbers and letters and equations, and blinked a few times at her aunt. “You aren’t really going to the hospital, are you?” she muttered, clenching her jaw against the panic rising in her at the idea of being home alone with Andrew on the prowl still and forcing herself to meet her aunt’s wide eyes.

“Of course I am,” Lauren snapped, closing her clutch tightly with a pinched expression on her face.

Chloe shot her a dubious look as her aunt turned on her heel and walked away.

“I’ll be home later,” she said briskly and the door slammed shut behind her, making the window panes rattle.

The house was silent and a chill rolled up Chloe’s spine, making her tuck her legs in close against her chest. She rested her chin against her knees and set down her pencil, unable to concentrate on the scrambled rows of equation after equation.

Her brain was too full of Andrew, his hungry expression taking up most of his face, always sucking his lip into his mouth whenever she noticed him.

His dark eyes encased in crow’s feet, too lustful to be staring at a fifteen year old girl, barely in high school, young enough to be his daughter.

No matter how much he freaked her out, she refused to make a big deal out of probably nothing.

Plus, Lauren hadn’t seen anyone in years since Chloe’s parents had married, as though she would punish Jennifer with her loneliness and snarky jabs, so she deserved to be kind of happy.

“Grow up,” she grumbled to herself, pushing away from the table to stuff her feet into her shoes.

She’d go for a walk, maybe drop by Walgreen’s for some more pens or something, to clear her head, pushing out all the scrambled thoughts revolving around that creepy Andrew and his leering.

_ A walk it is then,  _ she decided, nodding her head to herself.

She was out the door a few minutes later.

* * *

By the time she stopped walking, her legs were jelly and her feet ached in the arches. Sweat was plastered to her skin, making her shirt sticky, her thighs chafed, and her bra soaked. Her jeans were dark with sweat and her hair hung damp and lank in her eyes, clinging to her face.

A cool breeze ran down the street as she turned on the corner and spotted her house at the very tale end of the cal-de-sac.

Her aunt’s red Sudan was in the driveway but behind it was a shiny black GMC that Chloe didn’t recognize at all.

A cold dread cloaked her shoulders, starting from the top of her head, making her skin prickle, and ran down, even to her toes.

Something bad was going to happen.

As she walked quickly, she noticed how dark it was outside, the sky nearly purple-blue, streetlights on, and a few cars illuminating the cross section with white headlights.

A few kids played football in one of the yards and raced on scooters into the street, careless to the dangers.

Squinting, she realized she could hardly see them and picked up her pace.

Down the street, a few cal-de-sacs over, some dogs barked.

Car doors slammed.

A kid rushed passed her, intent on catching the spiraling football she hadn’t seen arching through the air.

Chloe bit her lip to keep from crying as the dread balled up inside the pit of her belly, hard and cold as a bite of ice cream. Despite the hot weather, she felt very cold and hugged herself, picking up her pace again, nearly jogging now.

Dead leave scraped against the asphalt behind her, sending her heart skittering into over drive and then she broke into a full-out sprint, her Walgreen’s bag hitting her hip the entire way. Despite having walked nearly four miles, she could push the pain in her feet and gelatin sensation in her muscles to the back of her mind.

She passed the cluster of football kids and one of them wolf-whistled at her; much to her gratefulness, the darkness hid her bright red cheeks, which felt like giant targets on her face for more harassment.

When Chloe finally reached the door, she heard her aunt’s loud laugh and closed her shaking hand around the doorknob, forcing herself to turn it and hear the click and open it.

The smell of food assaulted her and she nearly tripped over the men’s loafers in the doorway.

A blazer hung on the coat pegs— that didn’t belong to either of them, shoulders too wide, and who wore shoulder pads still?

“I-I’m home,” she called, her voice hoarse and a bit shrill.

The laughter stopped abruptly, although there were a few giggles still, and then Lauren came out of the TV room, barefoot, a wine glass in her trembling hand. Her lipstick was smudged and her hair was in clumpy curls now.

She yanked up the front of her dress and stepped forward, smiling like a maniac.

Chloe inched to the base of the stairs, placing her hand on the banister, and one foot on the bottom step.

“Lauren, who is it?” That was a man’s voice.

Chloe glanced at Lauren quickly, and then turned her attention to the figure walking up behind her aunt.

Thin, brown hair with a receding hairline, almost olive skin, and a kind smile which quickly vanished into the creepiest grin Chloe could think of ever seeing.

“Oh! This is my…my friend, Andrew Carson.” Lauren wrapped an arm around his waist, smiling.

Andrew leered.

Chloe dropped the bag and vomited all over Andrew’s expensive loafers.


	8. A Most Unsatisfactory Confrontation

* * *

* * *

A Most Unsatisfactory Confrontation

* * *

* * *

Andrew made a face of uttermost disgust when Chloe straightened up from vomiting, Lauren already at her side, shifting into Doctor Mode as she pulled back Chloe’s sweaty hair, damp already with perspiration.

“Will Chloe be okay?” he asked.

Lauren frowned. “Probably. Would you get her a new shirt or something from her room?”

“What are…” Chloe squeaked, horror dawning on her face.

“I’ve really gotta go,” Andrew said tightly, red-faced, stumbling for the front door, and a balmy breeze cooled the sweat on Chloe’s face.

The minute the door closed behind him, the blonde girl quickly said, “Aunt Lauren, I know you like him and stuff but he’s…” She paused, torn between letting her aunt know, or stay the dark and be blissfully happy.

“I don’t think I want him coming around here anymore,” Lauren stated.

“Why?”

“Did you see the way he was _looking_ at you? I think I can get your uncle to dig up this guy. How’d he even know your name?” The surgeon turned away, ready to head upstairs, motioning for her niece to follow.

“He’s been following me all week,” Chloe blurted out, clenching her hands into fists. “I-I met him before, at this pizza place Derek works at, a-and after, I kept s-seeing h-him— Andrew, not D-Derek— everywhere I went, the grocery store, outside of the school, outside that little cafe.”

She sniffled, attempting to suck up the thick mucus that had begun to run down her nose, down her chin as she struggled to keep it together. “I-I didn’t wa-want to wo-orry you, not when y-you ob-obvious-sly found some-some-someon-one who t-took an in-int-tere-est in you. I-I tho-thought I ju-just noticed hi-im because I kn-knew him no-ow,” she managed to choke out passed her chattering teeth and near hysterical sobbing.

Lauren stared at Chloe like she’d grown a second head. “Honey, why would you _ever_ think I didn’t want to hear about your troubles? I’m here for you, man in my life or no man.”

She smiled, sadly, as she took in Chloe’s vomit-stained shirt and helped her up. “But, first, let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

Her uncle Ben worked as a police officer, mainly concentrating with Special Victims.

Chloe felt sick with fear and panic.

What if Andrew found out that she’d gotten the police involved and came after her?

What if the kids at school found out and spread it around that she was into creepy old men?

What if _Derek_ found out and hated her?

What if he didn’t believe her?

She must’ve looked close to hyperventilating because Lauren forced her into a chair and Ben brought her one of those little plastic Dixie cups of water to keep her calm.

When she finally quit panicking, she looked up into her uncle’s familiar blue eyes, eerily reminiscent of her mom’s, and blurted, a short gasp, “I have a stalker. I-It’s this old guy I know, kind of, and he follows me ev-everywhere and he’s really creepy and I do-don’t want to ever s-see hi-im.”

She grabbed her legs and tugged them against her chest, taking another sip of the cup.

The water slid down her throat, soothing her tight throat, and she relaxed as Ben got to her level, squatting like talking to a small child.

“Does this man have a name? Has he tried anything? How long has this been going on?” Question, after question, and she answered them all— yes, it’s Andrew Carson, not really but he saw Aunt Lauren, and a couple of weeks— in, what she felt was, record speed. Ben jotted all her answers down on a notepad, the landline phone cradled to his ear, speaking rapid-fire to someone on the other end.

“Uh huh,” he muttered, unplugging his pen cap with his teeth as he bounced from foot to foot anxiously.

She watched him, the wave of his curls, glossy with the gel he always used to keep it out of his face, his eyes lidded and concentrated on his paper, lips disappearing into the span of hair surrounding his jaw.

“Thank you. So it’ll be here in a bit. Okay, thank you.”

Once the phone was back in its cradle, he smiled at her, albeit it was strained at the edges and fissured with a bit of anger-tinged concern, and explained, “We can’t do much, but we’ve put out a notice for him.” When she shot him a wide-eyed look, he explained that they’d keep an eye on this man.

“Hey, Chloe!”

She spun around, wide-eyed, to find Liz, Derek and, damn it all, _Carson._ Her stomach dropped to the bottom of her toes and she shot to her feet violently, her heart hammering as sweat broke out across her skin.

“He’s here,” she hissed to her uncle, who’d barely even glanced at the group, but once she said that, he was staring intently at all three.

“The younger guy?”

Another almost indiscernible shake.

Finally, his eyes zeroed in on Andrew, who looked a bit pained and uneasy being around so many cops.

“Hey, Chloe,” Derek said and swept her up into his arms, which was a shock considering he hated contact, and spun her around.

She laughed uneasily, and closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his; despite being in his arms, where she could normally forget her problems and feel comfortable, she felt uneasy and grimy.

“Andrew?” Ben asked.

Chloe forgot how to breathe.

“Stay the _fuck_ away from my niece,” he snarled harshly.

Andrew shook his head and smiled nervously. Sweat ran down his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated quietly, eyes on the floor, “but I’ll be sure to follow your instructions.”

“Andrew?” Derek asked.

“Just a misunderstanding,” the older man said, but his eyes were on Chloe, her eyes wide and pale with fear.


	9. A New Threat

* * *

* * *

A New Threat

* * *

* * *

A month passed by without word of Andrew. He left her alone and avoided her at the pizzeria. He didn’t follow her to school, to the bistro, to the supermarket.

At first, she didn’t believe her uncle’s reassurances and remained on edge, looking over her shoulder all the time, expecting to see the leering smile and glassy eyes.

Every car driving by made her heart thump faster, thinking it to be Andrew’s car.

Whenever she saw a balding, paunchy man, she panicked, only to realize the face was all wrong, cheeks too thin, eyes too widely-spaced apart, nose too large, jowls too low on his chin.

But as the weeks crawled by, she slowly realized he wasn’t coming after her. If he did, she was certain that her uncle would beat the shit out of him. She stopped looking over her shoulder; she didn’t freak out over the rumble of engines or panic over balding men.

Jacinda married Steve but Chloe had fallen sick so Lauren kept her home.

Rae videotaped the whole thing and showed Chloe it once they got home.

The venue they’d picked was pretty and natural, with long strings of white flowers hanging overhead of the space. Women in pink dresses lined the steps and drank champagne from flute glasses. Men in tuxes fidgeted and talked among each other. Guests in wide-brimmed hats and suits crowded the white-and-pink chairs on the bride’s side. Leaves and flower petals rained down on the wedding goers, creating a peaceful, dreamlike visage.

Her dad stood up on the top step, tugging at his sleeves and adjusting his collar, red-faced. It was like he’d never been married.

Eventually, the bridesmaids and groomsmen faced forward and a song came on; The Wedding March played as the guests quieted and all turned. 

The camera shook a bit and a man’s side came into view. He was heavyset and black, with a clean-shaven head and a thick beard. 

A woman, taller than the man beside her, was dressed in all-white, a flowing dress with a mermaid cut that accented her figure, veil covering her face. Her long braids had been undone and her hair was twisted into an intricate French braid instead, swaying behind her with every step.

The woman leaned down, kissed the man on the cheek, and ghosted along the rest of the aisle. It was Jacinda. When she reached Chloe’s dad, she smiled brightly, which Chloe could see clearly despite the veil over her face, and took his hands in hers.

A short, skinny minister read their vows and Chloe dug her fists into her ribs until they hurt. She zoned out for most of them but she heard the man say, “…man and wife. You may kiss the bride.” She watched as Jacinda smiled and leaned down to kiss her new husband.

Chloe turned away as they kissed and thought about his first wedding. It had been an autumn wedding, with red, orange, brown, yellow leaves kicking up in the wind. A mist blew around them. The bride’s gown got ruined because it started to rain and she was in the middle of laughing when her groom kissed her.

“Do you miss your dad?” she asked Rae, who sat cross-legged to pop the DVD out of the DVD player.

Rae looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess.” She frowned. “It wasn’t like he was ever really there to begin with though. I mean, how can you miss someone you never met?”

They were both very quiet until someone knocked on the door and Rae got to her feet to answer it while Chloe turned on the regular TV and flicked through the channels. She heard a car speeding down the street, tires screeching, the door open, close, and Rae’s heavy footsteps.

“Chloe?” the dark-skinned girl called.

Chloe looked up to find Rae’s confused face. “What?”

Without another word, Rae pushed a crushed envelope at the blonde, who took it questioningly.

“What is it?”

Rae shrugged and walked into the kitchen to go fix something to eat.

Chloe rolled her eyes and read the messy, almost childish scrawl that stated her name. Smudges of dirt stained the envelope. Using her thumbnail, she wedged it open and peered inside. A piece of paper was folded inside.

“Do you want anything?” Rae asked from the kitchen.

“No!” Chloe yelled back and unfolded the letter.

_ Peach is your color. _

Those four words made her eyes burn. She was wearing a peach-colored hoodie, but she hadn’t left the house at all today. 

Immediately, her eyes shifted to the bay windows that overlooked the living room, where several children played hockey and rolled by on roller blades and a girl jogged around the circle and headed back out. 

Her stomach rolled as she searched for Andrew’s car, listened for the rumbling engine, and pressed a hand hard against her mouth to stifle the gasps that threatened to slide out of her. The paper in her hand quivered violently and she doubled over to stop shuddering.

“Chloe? Are you okay?” Rae’s voice drifted from the kitchen’s open doorway, carrying the smell of reheated taco meat.

Chloe stuffed the letter underneath the couch. It couldn’t be him, she decided as she straightened up. “Yeah, I was just untying my shoes because it’s hard to take them off,” she lied and was proud when her voice didn’t shake in the slightest.

“Oh. Want some tacos?” Her black step-sister was already turning back towards the kitchen, hand on her stomach.

“No thanks. I’m gonna go take a shower before Lauren comes home and uses all the hot water,” the blonde said and slid the note out from under the couch.

Rae’s laugh followed Chloe up the stairs and into her room, where her numb fingers ripped up the letter and buried the pieces underneath the trash at the bottom of her trash can.  _ It’s not him,  _ she told herself fiercely as she sifted through the wild mess of her underwear and socks and picked out a clean pair of socks and panties.

Once she gathered her clean outfit, she headed into the bathroom but not before she scanned the cal-de-sac for that shiny, black GMC and closed her blinds.  _ Nothing,  _ she thought and forced his leering smile from her mind.


	10. The Letters That Came In A Flood

* * *

* * *

The Letters That Came In A Flood

* * *

* * *

In the morning, the day after she received the first letter, came another on stained yellow notepad paper.

_I love your hair when it gleams in the sun._

She crammed it into a box under her bed with shaking hands and a mouth full of bile. Her stomach was aching as she walked downstairs and nibbled on burnt toast, unable to stomach much else, but that came up again almost immediately.

After she brushed the bitter taste of vomit out of her mouth, she glanced outside, not seeing the black car.

If he wasn’t in the cal-de-sac., where was he? Hiding in a van? The idea of him watching her from a van, maybe even hooking up cameras in her house, made her shiver.

The house was quiet, except for the quiet creaking of the old foundation settling; no one else was home except her and every noise made her jump, every car door slamming made her jerk, every yell made her skin crawl. She hadn’t been this jumpy for a while and it was kind of funny to her how easily her imagination could run away with her.

Having had enough of the spooks, Chloe grabbed a heavy jacket, her wallet and her phone before she headed out the garage, dragging her bicycle out from behind some boxes of her dad’s musty jackets. Maybe a bike ride to Derek’s house would help.

* * *

When she knocked, it wasn’t Derek who answered but instead, a girl with long, blonde hair and big, gray eyes. She had half her hair up in a bun and was holding a box of hair dye.

Did Derek have a girlfriend? The idea sent a sour taste in her mouth. He didn’t even _tell_ her, and they were best friends. “Oh, u-um,” Chloe squeaked, stepping away, “h-hi. I-is um Derek here?”

“So _you’re_ Chloe,” the girl said flatly, tilting her head a bit and eyeballing Chloe in a manner that left the strawberry blonde a bit unnerved. “Derek isn’t in, but I’ll tell you dropped by.”

“Ah, okay,” Chloe managed.

“Lighten up, would ya?” the girl suddenly laughed, a smile breaking across the calm on her face as she lunged at Chloe and swept her up into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m Liz. You’ve grown up, Chloe! You have boobs now too!”

“L-Liz? Delaney?” Chloe asked, blinking as she rubbed her sore ribs. Last time she saw Liz, the other girl was half a foot shorter and about seventy pounds skinnier. Now she was a knockout, with muscular thighs and a butterscotch tan and a nose ring.

“Yup. Derek really isn’t here though. He said he had to work or something. But come in! Tori and Simon are here. Guys!”

The mood change made Chloe pause.

“Oh, I wanted to see how you’d react to a rough-and-tough me. Guess you really are the same. So meek, so demure,” Liz giggled as she laced her fingers through Chloe’s and tugged her into the house.

“Who says demure anymore?” Tori asked as she stepped away from a chair next to the sink, holding a black plastic bowl and a hair dye application brush. “Oh, hey. Derek’s working until three,” she informed Chloe.

Liz set down the box of hair dye, which made Tori groan.

“What’re you doing with your little blue hands all over her? Stop that and come sit before you ruin something,” she demanded and Liz skipped over, dragging Chloe with her. “Drop, Liz.”

Obediently, Liz dropped Chloe’s hand and instead played a little bit in a puddle of water on the counter, dragging her finger through it in a circular motion. “Tori’s dying my hair for me since my mom finally said yes,” she explained. “What’s been going on in your life?”

“M-my dad got married to Jacinda. You know, Rae’s mom,” Chloe said in a rush, unable to keep it off her chest. “And my dad never told me until I went to his cabin and she _answered_ the door.”

Liz started sputtering indignantly. “That’s— how could he—Rae’s mom— she ruined the funeral!” she managed to yell and started to move, which in turn made Tori swear at her as a glob of blue paste ran down Liz’s neck.

“Sit still unless you wanna become a part of the Blue Man group!” Tori snapped and Liz froze like a statue, making faces at Chloe.

“Yeah,” Chloe laughed. A car door slammed somewhere close by and her skin tightened, goosebumps breaking out across the surface. Her scalp tingled. Her entire body flushed with cold as she licked her dry lips and glanced out the window.

A red pickup sat at the curb of someone’s house, a handyman services’ logo across the side doors. No black GMC. Despite seeing no car, her skin continued to prickle and she borrowed one of Derek’s sweatshirts since she knew he wouldn’t care, but it didn’t ward off the cold in her veins.

“You look really pale, Chloe. Are you feeling okay?” Liz asked, turning to face her after Tori finished applying the hair dye and was washing out the container under the tap. Liz’s gray eyes stared at Chloe steadfastly.

“Nah, I’m feeling a bit stuffy,” Chloe lied quietly, unable to bring up the sensitive topic of Andrew’s stalking.

Liz pursed her lips. “You better not get me sick, girl,” she said.

Chloe managed a weak laugh and disguised it by coughing. “I think I’m gonna head home,” she managed, trying her best to sound nasally. _He can’t get to you,_ she told herself as she hugged Liz and Tori and headed back home on her bike. The wind stung her cheeks and numbed her fingers but she found she couldn’t care any less.

When she got home, she placed her bike in the garage and realized there were three notes sitting in the cup holder on the handlebars of her bike. The first one had a ring from a coffee cup, browning the paper. The ink was blue and in the same shaky penmanship as before.

 _That’s a very nice bike you have,_ it read with a smiley face at the bottom.

The next one was on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper. It seemed sloppier than the first, with tears all over it like whoever had written it had borne down too hard.

 _You’d look_ _good with_ _blue streaks,_ _just like your friend Liz_ _. It would bring out your freckles._

Her stomach turned.

The last one was the worst, honestly; the paper was fancy, like it was from a stationary, and the penmanship was careful, deliberately attempting to be smoother than the rest.

 _You never told me Derek was your boyfriend. Such a_ naughty _girl; I should_ punish _you._

It went into graphic detail of how they writer would “punish” her and every word sent her stomach into knots and bile rising in her throat.

Chloe quickly folded the letters, checked the cal-de-sac for his black GMC and then hurried into the house, locking all the doors, drawing the blinds, and locking the windows. _It’s probably someone just fucking with me,_ she thought frantically as she closed her curtains and put the letters in the box under her bed.

_It’s not him._


	11. A Discovery By Other Eyes

* * *

* * *

A Discovery By Other Eyes

* * *

* * *

Try as she might, Chloe couldn’t push the notes out of her mind. Her stomach rolled at the idea of Andrew in her house, in her _garage_ , hastily placing the notes.

 _Not him,_ she thought frantically as she threw her hair up in a ponytail. _Not, not, not. He can’t. He wouldn’t. Ben would beat the shit out of him if he tried._

She wiped the sweat out of her eyes as she stood on her tiptoes to grab the guitar out of her closet. God knew she hadn’t touched the thing in, what, three years? Maybe more, but she needed a reprieve for her spiraling thoughts and this seemed to do just the thing.

Chloe’s fingers touched the cool fabric of the case and she tightened her fingers more, focusing to get a better grip on it. The case was a lot dustier than she expected and she found herself sneezing in rapid succession, sending herself stumbling into her night stand, the corner jabbing painfully into the back of her knee.

“Fuck!” she yelped.

“What about fucking?” Derek’s voice laughed as he came in.

She spun around, nearly dropping the case, and limped towards him as pitifully as she could. “I said fuck, not fucking,” she explained, pursing her lips as she set down the case on her rumpled bed while trying her best not to look in his eyes.

 _Fucking_ and _Derek_ would be a lovely thing, but not today. Wiping her nose with her sleeve, she headed over to him.

“How’d you get in?” she asked, peering around him.

His side pressed against her shoulder and she couldn’t help but lean against him.

“Um, the front door was unlocked,” he replied, turning to stare down at her.

A chill ran down her spine. “Un…locked?” she managed around the rapidly-growing lump in her throat as she pushed past him frantically. Her stomach twisted. “Unlocked?” she repeated, her voice shrill enough to hurt her own ears as she raced down the hallway.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t you leave it unlocked?” he called after her as she tore down the staircase, ignoring when she missed a step and landed on her ass in favor of climbing to her feet desperately.

 _Please, please, no,_ she thought as she neared the door and studied the deadbolt; it was unlocked. Her stomach dropped as her shaking hands gripped the doorknob and twisted it to the left. The door stuck a little but gave way with a few tugs and she looked at the front of the door.

A single slip of paper, folded in half horizontally, was taped in the center of the door.

Vomit filled her mouth as she ripped it down and unfolded it. Sweat beaded her skin as her blurry eyes focused on the words.

_You really should be careful who knows where your spare key is, Chloe. Such cute little stuffed animals you have. You should pick up your room; it’s absolutely filthy, and maybe dust that woman’s room, the one that smells like lilac. Your mother’s old room, right?_

A heavy hand touched her shoulder and she screamed, surprising herself and Derek, who stepped back, hands up in the universal surrender gesture.

Blood pulsed in her ears.

“Are you okay? You seem really jumpy and you look like you’re gonna faint,” he said and then noticed the paper in her hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” she heard herself mutter numbly, “just a little note. I don’t know who it’s from; they never leave a name.”

“They never…what the hell, Chloe? Lemme see it.” His rough hands touched hers and took the note from her.

She couldn’t even blink; it was like her body was disconnected from her brain. Sure, she could talk and breathe but her limbs felt heavy like weights and waves of rippling nausea draped over her, threatening the contents of her stomach to make a reappearance.

There was a long stretch of silence. Shadows crept out from the corners of her eyes slowly. Her stomach settled down but she still felt sick; her mouth tasted bitter and sour like bile and her throat burned as though she’d vomited.

A paper crinkled.

Derek’s green eyes materialized in front of her face, worry making his skin white, his nostrils flared and his fat eyebrows drawn over his deep-set eyes. Was he angry? Was he scared? “Chloe, this guy…he’s sick,” he said slowly, like he was testing out the words before speaking them, and something warm cupped her neck, a smaller appendage touching her cheek.

It was his hand, she realized belatedly, and, despite the horror, her body thrummed at the sensation of his skin on hers, so intimately. He was still speaking and she had to concentrate to focus on the words, not just the rumble of his voice.

“This guy’s psycho. We gotta tell your uncle,” he told her, and she shook her head. Sucked in a deep breath and exhaled through tight teeth.

And then what he’d said sank in. _Tell your uncle._

“It’s just some kids,” she argued faintly, reaching for the paper, at least she _thought_ she was reaching for the paper. Her hand stayed at her side, limp and heavy. Her fingers were cold and prickly, pins and needles.

“Chloe, this guy’s been in your _room._ Looked through your shit. Been in your _mom’s_ room,” Derek protested, his lips peeling back, and a fleck of spittle hit the corner of her mouth.

She couldn’t help but dart her tongue put to wet her mouth before she spoke. The saliva on her lips didn’t keep her voice from being raspy. “Derek, it’s not—” she tried.

“ _Bullshit, Chloe!”_ he bellowed, and she shrank back. His harsh expression softened, melted. “Oh, Chloe,” he moaned as he drew closer and pulled her tight against him.

Tears ran down her face.

“Please, Chloe…I can’t let this go by. I’ll be damned if I let this creep hurt you.” It was the emotion in his voice, the utter heartbreak, that moved her.

She pressed a hand against his cheek. “I—, uh, I have a box. Let me go get them.”

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright. I’ll call Lauren and let her know.”

Her stomach still hurt.


	12. The Unfortunate Truth

* * *

* * *

The Unfortunate Truth

* * *

* * *

The police station was relatively slow-paced today, with few and far pickups.

Chloe pressed herself hard into Derek’s side, breathing in the slight stench of his body order. His arm was looped around her shoulders, running his fingers through her flat hair, twirling the ends around the tip of each of his fingers.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against the top of her head.

She nodded absently as she watched her aunt speak to her uncle in quiet tones, her hand swinging back to their direction sometimes. Even though she knew she was being silly, she couldn’t help but flinch every time.

Aunt Lauren straightened, turned on her heel, and strode over to them. Behind her, Chloe could see her uncle’s thunderous expression, black anger darkening his eyes, the thin set of his lips shadowed by the shadow from his beard.

Chloe’s face felt hot as a spike of fear, burning, rushed through her hot enough to make her sweat. Her stomach twisted as she squeezed Derek’s hand as hard as she could, her breath rattling like a winter breeze in her lungs. Rivulets of sweat wet the back of her shirt.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured in her ear, dragging his nose across her temple in an undeniably lupine gesture, his low rumble soothing the fear that had bloomed. His hand dragged up and down her arm, his skin hot against the goosebumps-ridden skin of her bicep, and her anxiety inched back down.

She nodded, swallowing hard, and stepped away from him. Without him by her side, she could feel the panic creeping up once again, making her stomach tight. She was a big girl, and, while having her rock at her side made it exponentially easier to push aside her fear and anxiety, she needed to be strong and face this head-on.

The first step wobbled, her knees threatening to give out, and she felt the lightest brush of Derek’s hand against her back. His presence soothed the raw fear inside of her, a balm against her frayed nerves, and she took a breath, holding it until her pulse pounded behind her ears, loud enough to drown out low, gravelly tones of Derek’s familiar voice.

Another step, her knees seizing and then relaxing. Derek’s hand dropped away. She blew out the breath, her lungs burning as pressure swirled behind her eyes; that helped focus her thoughts and push down her anxiety so she could concentrate without sinking into a full-blown panic attack.

Every step made her feel like she was being ripped apart; half of her wanted to run all the way home and hide under the covers, and the other half wanted to make him pay for what he was doing to her. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she steeled her wavering nerves and exhaled slowly as she reached out, blindly, and wrapped her fingers around the back of the chair.

“Chloe, I’m going to get something to drink for Derek and I. Do you want anything?” Aunt Lauren asked quietly, her narrow eyes gentle and shining bright with concern.

Chloe scarcely managed a smile that felt more like a grimace, her lips stretched too tight and wide across her teeth, and her aunt’s face softened incrementally. Her hands were shaking too hard and her skin felt itchy and cold, making her fidget. “I’m fine, Aunt Lauren,” she lied.

Her aunt, for her part, didn’t look convinced, but, thankfully, didn’t pursue the issue. Instead, she leaned down, kissed Chloe firmly and gently on the forehead, and swept away, her scrubs swishing the entire way.

Biting the inside of her lip until she tasted blood, the strawberry-blonde flopped into the seat and hid her shaking hands underneath her thighs. A stiff, unnatural smile stretched across her mouth, and her uncle’s returned smile was just as tight, his lips quivering against his gums, and his eyes too dark for the smile to reach them. In the blue-gray of his irises was a sort of age-old darkness, a crushing kind of depression.

“Chloe, I never thought—” he tried, but his voice was weak and cracked. He licked his lips, his tongue swiping across the rough, cracked surface, and his eyes darted over to the box where Derek had set it down, flowing to the brim with letter after letter.

He swallowed and tried again. “I never thought I’d have to play the cop with you, kiddo,” he laughed meekly, “but I’m glad— I’m glad it’s me. I’m glad you can trust me. This guy, Chloe, we don’t think it’s Carson; the handwriting doesn’t match up and Carson’s too spooked of his own shit to even think about trying anything again.”

Chloe’s blood thundered as her breath caught in her throat with a little click. Her hands, which had been starting to go numb, shook so bad she was worried she was having a seizure. Any thoughts in her brain hit a brick wall and the only thing she could think of was _oh my god, it’s not him. Not him. Not him._

Her stomach rolled and she felt the hot acid of bile eating a hole in her throat. She swallowed hard, praying she didn’t fall apart right then and there. Her vision blurred with hot tears, dripped down her cheeks, despite her prayer to not break into a thousand pieces.

Uncle Ben’s rough, warm hands touched her cheeks and wiped away the tears streaking down her face. She opened her mouth, her lips dry and sticky, but all that come out were little squeaks and this weird, long wail that made every head turn to her.

A thousand bricks crashed down on her as she collapsed against her uncle, wrapping her arms around his thin frame to pull him closer, and, somewhere in the back of her mind, she could feel Derek’s soothing presence behind her, touching her back, and just the light touch made her knees buckle and she fell to the floor.

“My baby,” Aunt Lauren murmured as she set down the cups when she walked in and wrapped her arms around Chloe, embracing both her niece and her brother.


	13. Inquiry of Suspects

* * *

* * *

Inquiry of Suspects

* * *

* * *

After learning it wasn’t Carson, a new question arose. Who was sending her the creepy letters?

Her aunt was more concerned than angry with Chloe for not discussing the letters with her, worried that whoever was watching them was dangerous, the kind who’d kidnap or hurt Chloe.

“We can’t be sure of anything at the moment,” Ben explained, though his lip curled, “and our hands are tied. No one reported any strange figures or anyone lurking. Without any eye witnesses or security footage. Right now, they’re creepy but ultimately harmless. I would suggest locking your windows and doors before you leave or if you’re home alone. Keep vigilant.”

Derek scowled as Chloe listened to her uncle. The idea that they were unable to do anything left her skin crawling. His words alone terrified her; he knew her daily schedule, her mother’s sealed room, her friends. A shiver went down her spine as she thought of what actions he’d take. Would he hurt her friends? Would he hurt her uncle and aunt? Her dad? _Her?_

“Chloe?”

She jerked away and found Ben’s eyes staring sadly at her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “it’s just…what if he hurts my friends? You, Aunt Lauren, my dad?” The unspoken _me_ echoed between them.

“I won’t let that happen,” Ben told her firmly, standing up from his desk to wrap his arms around her.

She found herself frozen stiff, unable to respond. Her blood was like ice. A hard, bone-deep tremble washed over her viciously. Her mouth tasted bitter and salty, a mix of acid and blood. And then she broke her chains, stepping backwards.

“I’m fine, Uncle Ben,” she said flatly, and beside her, Derek’s lips thinned; maybe he noticed the lackluster tone that her uncle obviously didn’t.

Ben frowned a little bit. “Are you…sure, sweetie?” His arms raised partially again, loitered in the air for a second, and then dropped back down to his sides. Sighing heavily, he ran a hand through his curls.

When she nodded, he chewed his cheek for a moment and then turned and placed a heavy palm on Lauren’s shoulder. He said something too low for Chloe to hear but it made Lauren’s worried eyes dart to her.

“Are you okay, Chloe?” Derek’s hot breath fanned against her ear.

“Fine,” she muttered as his hand closed around her elbow, firm enough to keep her anchored but gentle enough that she could break away without too much effort. “This is fucked up,” she admitted slowly.

He nodded, his eyes on her aunt and uncle. “It is.”

“Like, _really_ fucked up. First your _boss_ and now this?” Her voice had been growing in volume and now she was yelling. Realizing how loud she’d gotten, she swallowed hard and looked away, lowering her eyes.

Derek’s hand touched her shoulder gently, and his thumb pressed slow, soothing swipes. “It’s not your fault,” he said, “Carson’s a sick fucker, and this guy—”

“Is worse, right?” she cut in.

His green eyes bore into her. They were familiar and she’d looked into them for years. He was there when her mom died, when she got her first period, when her aunt and dad missed her birthday every year due to work. Safe; he was _safe_ and he was her rock.

Tears welded up in her eyes as a noise escaped her, something like a sob, and then she pushed herself into his arms, bawling.

He murmured sweet nothings like he always did, and she clung to him like she always did, and her aunt and uncle were on the outskirts, watching in.

* * *

His stomach tightened with anger at the sight of the green-eyed boy hugging her, his sweet little angel. He growled quietly to himself, clenching his fists to keep his anger reigned in. As much as he wanted to, the man knew he couldn’t attack in a crowded, public police station. Especially with his angel curled around the boy like a little slut.

 _Goddamn it,_ he thought darkly as he strode to the entrance doors and shoved them open, allowing them to bang open. So focused on his rage, blinded by the tornado of his thoughts, he didn’t see the boy until it was too late.

It was a pup, a few years younger, and therefore he bared his throat submissively. He smirked down at the bow, acknowledging the submission, and the boy scowled at the ground, crouching to pick up his things.

The pup was a very pretty sight, all dark eyes and unkempt black hair that curled against the collar of his leather jacket.

“Name,” the man demanded.

“Ramon Santos,” the pup replied reluctantly, his eyes flashing between the man and the police station doors behind him. “What’s yours?”

The man laughed. “You’re very bold, Ramon Santos. I like that.” His mind was already constructing a plan.

Ramon the pup scowled even more.

The man couldn’t help but smile, imagining the look on his angel’s face when he finally had her; she’d be safe from that brute and every other who just wanted the sweetness between her legs. She’d wrap her arms around him and whisper how she loved him.

“I gotta go,” Ramon the pup said and then his eyes darted to the police station. “Hey! I thought we were—I really need to go.” He clutched his papers against his chest, shifting from foot to foot.

“Go, then,” the man suggested, giving the boy a quick once over and then glancing behind him.

A dark-haired girl, obviously Native American from her rich complexion, stood in the alcove of the police station doors, watching the exchange closely. Her eyes were just as big as the pup’s, and the man could only conclude they were related in some manner. Siblings, perhaps.

The pup darted away to the girl.

“Sorry, Mila,” he heard the pup apologize.

Today had been good, despite the fact his angel didn’t realize he was protecting her from the bad of this world. She’d see soon enough.


	14. Truest of the Blood-Thirsty Beasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Graphic murder

* * *

* * *

Truest of the Blood-Thirsty Beasts

* * *

* * *

The man scrolled through her social media posts, pictures of her friends, making silly faces at the camera, and his blood boiled at the ones of her and the boy, Derek, too close for comfort. The pictures themselves screamed innocence but the way they held each other—his arm on her waist, her arms around his neck—made the man’s stomach twist.

Snarling, he shut off his phone before he became too angry and caused a scene in public. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and his imagination took over.

His angel wrapping her arms around him after a long day at work, asking him about his day, pretending she couldn’t feel what she did to him. Her scent and body soft and sweet around and against him, comforting.

She wouldn’t protest when he took her, slowly and gently, being treated like the glass doll she was.

“Sir?”

He turned his head, spotting the blonde waitress peering at him nervously. A lock of hair fell into her youthful face, and he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. Her throat and cheeks turned red; she blushed beautifully, wonderfully.

A grin spread across his lips as he turned on his charm. “Yes, beautiful?”

She squeaked a little. “Are you ready to order?”

Without answering, he let his eyes wander up and down her figure. She looked about nineteen, a little older than he preferred, but the innocence and ageless in her face excited him to no ends. Her hair was pulled back with a barbie headband, and she had dinosaur earrings.

 _The fashion sense of a child,_ he mused as he picked up the menu, gave it a cursory glance before he returned his attention back to her. Her name tag read _Bethany._

He flashed a smile, watching her cheeks darken again, and spoke in a slow, sultry measured manner. “I am, but what I want is, unfortunately, not on the menu.”

As she registered the innuendo, she giggled nervously, twisting her hair. “I like to get the names of my customers. Can I ask what yours is?” she asked boldly.

“You can call me Marcel.”

He smiled again, knowing full well that was his old mentor’s name, but she didn’t seem to mind the peculiar name for such a handsome man.

Glancing up at the clock that hung, she smiled. “My shift is up at seven thirty, that is, if you’re offering what I believe you’re offering.”

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he saw she glanced down and bit her lip at what she saw. “I am. Until then, get me a…number one, please, with a coffee. Black.”

She turned and hurried away.

He watched the tempting sway of her hips and leaned back, crossing his legs.

* * *

The moonlight spilled over the diner, illuminating two figures on the floor of kitchen. One was a woman, her hair fanned around her as she appeared to struggle. The other was a man—or what used to be one; the misshapen, broken silhouette had long, black claws, a mouth full of razor teeth, and hungry, glaring eyes.

“P-pl-please,” the woman begged, her eyes wide with panic as she tried to pull herself away, too busy attempting to escape to try to hide her nude body.

The man sneered, showing off long, razor-sharp teeth as he grasped her legs and yanked her hard enough for her arms to slip out from under her, causing her head to hit the ground with a resounding smack.

Moaning in pain, the woman weakly and futilely tried to shove the man off her but he placed a gnarled, dark hand over her face and squeezed, a warning, ignoring her soft whines and whimpers of terror. “W-what are you?” she asked the man.

His feral, glittering eyes swung up to meet hers, and he pulled his hand away. He’d squeezed hard enough that blood trickled from her nose, but not enough to kill her…yet.

It seemed that the monster was toying with her, taunting her. He enjoyed prolonging her torture.

The man turned monster smiled in response before saying, “You’re dirty just like the rest.” And then he was slicing her, drawing hoarse screams that he smothered with her uniform shirt, relishing in the blood that dripped from his claws.

She screamed and screamed but even those were growing weaker and weaker until they altogether stopped. The breath left her lungs; her eyes went dull.

The man stood up, his dark hair retreating, bones realigning themselves, and he stared down at the dead woman without an inkling of remorse or guilt. Humans were ruled by their emotions; greed led to carelessness; lust led to infidelity; and hunger led to death.

He washed his hands just feet away from the remains of Bethany and dressed efficiently.

“What _am_ I? I am darkness. Everything I do is for _her_.” His angel. Sighing, he made his way out of the back door, using the darkness of the alleyway to hide his presence from the security camera as he’d done before.


	15. The Breaking of An Already Frayed Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize in advance for Rae's behavior—stereotypical black girl being jealous/envious of the white main character. I will probably go back, eventually, and re-write these chapters.

* * *

* * *

The Breaking of An Already Frayed Girl

* * *

* * *

Chloe glared at the red spot in the gusset of her panties, willing it away by sheer willpower but it remained, taunting her. Her day had started off crappy and this was icing on the cake. With a sigh, she sat back down and leaned over, tearing off several pieces to stuff in her pants.

Satisfied she wouldn’t bleed through, she pulled her pants back up and headed out, intent on washing her hands. “Chloe,” a voice said as she pumped her hands full of hand-soap, “where have you been?” The door banged open and several freshman flooded in, chattering and giggling among themselves.

“I…some stuff came up,” Chloe replied quietly, swallowing hard as she thought of the shoe-box full of letters, the pitch-dark anger that blackened her uncle’s face, the unsure concern of her aunt, her own unease and terror, Derek’s fierce protectiveness. The letters had stopped for the time being, but a new object had been finding its way into her _locker_ at school now.

A single, red rose each day sat atop her books and binders, the petals not yet wilted. There was never a note to go along with the flower, but her gut told her it was the same bastard who sent her those letters. So it was someone from her school. Or someone who _knew_ where her locker was and her combination and when she wasn’t at her locker.

A hand touched her shoulder, gentle and kind, but she jerked away all the same as though she’d been struck and watched her stepsister’s dark eyes in the mirror. The face that had once been so comforting, as familiar as the back of her hand, was a still of worry and unease. “Chloe,” Rae said softly, “I know what’s been going on. Your aunt told my mom and your dad. Who do you think it was?”

Chloe didn’t have any words. Her mouth was dry, and her eyes burned. This was the last thing she wanted to talk to Rae about, but she couldn’t help herself from shuddering away from the softer girl. Mute, she shook her head and looked down at her feet as she turned on the faucet.

Pain throbbed in twin points behind her eyes. She thought she’d felt helpless in the suffocating, empty expanse of her house— that… _that_ was nothing compared to the hollow, all-consuming terror that struck her paralyzed when she thought of the sick fuck leaving her roses. She swallowed hard against the painful lump closing up her throat as she shivered.

“Chloe,” her stepsister whispered, velvet-crushed agony.

Chloe ran her tongue along the inside of her teeth, tasting the blood there. She’d bitten something, and she could see Rae’s dark figure hovering, uncertain behind her, and her eyes filled with the hot sting of tears. “I don’t know.” It came weak, a wounded animal plea, and her voice shook so she closed her mouth.

Rae’s hand touched her arm, and she pulled away. “You can talk to me.” There was an inviting gleam in her eyes, and the blonde couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d seen her, eyes bloodshot, stumbling, warbling something during the funeral.

“No. I _can’t._ ”

She couldn’t _breathe,_ and every little bit she did manage to squeeze through was too short, and her hands shook.

Rae’s voice turned acidic and wounded. “You don’t trust me?” she said quietly, her dark gleaming eyes boring into Chloe, and the blonde shook her head, stumbling backwards. The faucet was still running, soap dripping from her hands, but she was heading towards the push door so she couldn’t go and wash her fingers off.

The shorter girl licked her lips, tasting blood. “N-no, that’s not— that’s not it, Rae, and you know it,” she croaked, her voice raspy, but the dark-haired girl wasn’t listening—or maybe she just didn’t care, Chloe wasn’t sure.

“ _Of course it is,_ ” Rae pressed, her voice deathly calm, cool, and it sent shivers up Chloe’s back, “I’m just Royce’s druggie ex-girlfriend. I deserve what happened to him, don’t I? It’s _payback_ for what happened at your mom’s funeral.”

Any breath in the blonde’s lungs caught in her throat on the way out, thick and painful, a lump, and she shook her head. Her eyes burned. “That’s n-not—”

“My own mom wasn’t around. Your mom was the closest thing to having one. You weren’t the only one hurting, Chloe! God damn it, I lost her too! But you were too busy sucking face with Derek and garnering everyone’s attention to notice.” Rae was advancing and Chloe was retreating, her back against the door now.

“Sucking face? It’s not like that.” Chloe hated how tiny and meek and scared she sounded. Tears ran down her face, snot dripping from her nose.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Rae inhaled sharply and leaned away, her eyes narrow. “I know you hadn’t really forgiven me. Nobody has. It was all a lie!” With a snarl, she stalked closer and pushed Chloe with her shoulder as she shoved open the door without a glance back.

Chloe sat there in the middle of the hallway for the longest time before her lungs worked again, and she gasped and panted for breath. Shaking sobs shook her body. She could only cry.


	16. Desperate Connections for the Broken Souls

* * *

* * *

Desperate Connections for the Broken Souls

* * *

* * *

Derek stared at the unknown phone number and the text that accompanied it. _Hello, Derek. My name is Zachary. I’ve been trying to find you. If you want to know why, meet me in the library parking lot at nine._

He wasn’t stupid; he knew he shouldn’t meet this mystery man, that it could be a prank or a lunatic. Even so, there was a twisting sensation in the deepest pit of his stomach. He wanted to discard the text, he really did, but the guy knew his name.

How often did someone text the wrong number with the owner’s name? Not very often.

Shutting off his phone, he finished changing into his workout clothes and rooted around in his desk drawer for his earbuds. Even if he did go, he at least had two years of football and several of self-defense under his belt, and if push came to shove, he could always count on his wolf instincts.

Shaking his head, he walked out of his room and down the stairs, muttering a quick explanation of where he was going to Simon, who wasn’t particularly paying attention, and headed for the long, winding trail in the park that had forest encroached on each side.

It felt all too coincidental for this unknown person to be contacting him in such a short span of time to Chloe’s new stalker problem. Scowling to himself, he set off a moderate pace, the volume of his music low enough he could easily hear the sounds of his surroundings over it, and began the long, deliciously painful run to the park and then beyond.

His feet pounded the ground in a steady beat as his muscles ached in the most pleasurable agony. Despite the fact he was sweating profusely, despite the fact his legs felt like gelatin, he didn’t let himself stop. His lungs burned and ached for slow breathing. His calves and thighs felt like fire.

 _My name is Zachary._ That name tugged at the edges of his memory, elusive, and he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before. Regardless, he debated on not going but his stomach flip-flopped at the idea of not seeing who this man was; surely, he could sneak away long enough to see what this guy wanted.

The rest of his run was a blur, passing by quickly with all that occupied his mind, and he returned home after an hour, his lungs burning as he walked slowly back. Sweat ran down his face is rivulets, streamed into his eyes, and soaked his clothes and hair. He’d pulled his hair out of his face a few blocks away from home, into a messy ponytail that he’d have to undo when he took a shower.

There was a dark-blue SUV sitting in his driveway when he returned home and he was surprised to find a dark-skinned woman sitting across the kitchen island with his father. The woman’s hair was styled in thick braids, pulled back into a bun that drooped onto the back of her neck, and then he _smelled_ her—was hit so hard by her scent that it nearly made him stumble.

Every muscle in his body screamed, both human and wolf bristled at the fact another wolf had come into his territory, speaking so candidly with his pack. “Who the fuck are you?” he snarled when Jacinda froze and her head whipped to the side to stare at him, her dark-lashed eyes flashing yellow for a moment.

Kit looked aghast. “Derek,” he warned in a clipped tone but the woman waved him off.

She stood, towering over Kit and nearing close to Derek’s height, and he tried hard not to snarl. Her breath smelled like coffee as she spoke. “I will not apologize for intruding on your pack simply because your father believes there’s a monster among our kind. Surely, you’ve heard the rumors. A wolf-man attacking young girls and killing them slowly. I passed one of the crime scenes earlier this week and it reeked of wolf.” There was a world-wizened sadness and darkness in the amber of her eyes.

Derek backed down slightly but remained tense, his gaze following her closely as she walked back to the seat and sat down without giving him her back. Jacinda was smart, smarter than Liam or Ramon, to not do so; had he been any other wolf, he would’ve attacked her for giving him such vulnerability.

“What does that have to do with him or my pack?” Even he could hear the guttural rawness that took over the words, the wolf clawing at the surface, threatening to burst out. His nails dug into his palms when he squeezed his hands into fists to tamper down the blood lust that had surged.

“We believe he’s targeting this town because of the dense werewolf population, hoping to deflect the blame on them.” Kit leveled a solid look at Derek, his expression concerned.

“What?” the werewolf croaked, his voice scratchy and raspy. He sounded like he was going through puberty all over again but he didn’t care; he had the feeling his adoptive father was about to tell him something that was going to break his world open.

Kit swallowed hard and the woman reached across the kitchen island, clasping his hand with hers. “We also think it’s because of your father, Zachary. Zachary Cain. They want to pin it on him, since he’s such a hated and loved figure in wolf culture.” There was unease, maybe even guilt, in his eyes.

 _That_ was why the name Zachary had sounded so damn familiar. “You mean the first werewolf in New York to come out? The one who founded the Edison Group, Cabal, and the St. Clouds? _That_ Zachary Cain?”

At first, he was amazed but the longer he stared at the two anxious, the more anger began to settle onto his shoulders. His voice rose to a bellow. “You’re telling me this _now?_ Why _now?_ I used to ask all the time when I was little and you refused to so much as breathe a word about him! And now you’re springing it on me?”

He knew the wolf was on the verge of taking over, his voice coming out far too much like a growl. He felt the sting of betrayal as he looked into the eyes of the man he’d considered his father for the longest time. His vision blurred as tears prickled his eyes but he blinked them away, clenching his jaw against the hot rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You were too young,” Kit whispered, his eyes glinting. An edge had crept into his voice.

Derek snarled, the sound jarring his adoptive father, and there was flash across his face, so quick but clear as day, behind the concern and anxiety. It made his stomach churn. _Fear._ The sharp scent of it stung his nose, boiled his lungs. Bile burned his throat as he took a step back, stumbled when the edge of the kitchen table pressed into his back.

When Kit moved, reaching for him, something akin to lava slid into his veins. “ _Don’t touch me!”_ he roared, shoving his father away and sending the older man to the floor.

“Christopher!”

The woman hurried over to him, checking him over for injuries, and Derek’s throat tightened when his dad’s face lifted, revealing his normally sun-browned complexion white with fear and shock. He glanced down at his trembling hands and then turned tail and bolted out the front door, ignoring Kit screaming for him to come back.

The look on his face said everything the werewolf needed to know—that he was a monster.


	17. His Name Is Just Another Word For Monster

* * *

* * *

His Name Is Just Another Word For Monster

* * *

* * *

Clenching his jaw so hard it hurt, he tried to think, tried to pull himself enough to figure out his next step but he couldn’t. His hands shook violently as he stopped at the edge of the stretch of forest that spanned across yards, deep and earthen and _home_ , and he inhaled the scents—lush, freshly-soaked with rain soil, damp leaves, the onset of another storm like the one they had earlier that morning—as it worked its way into his lungs, unlocked each rigid muscle like a tranquilizer, and his wolf settled down.

Shame crept through his veins with its red-hot talons, sinking deep into his chest to clasp his heart, and he gazed out at the rain-decorated tree-tops, wondering how he ever got to be such a monster. He looked in the mirror and saw wolf teeth and claws and blood-stained lips but now he was asking himself if others saw the animal he was too. The very idea made his stomach flip over and stomach acid burned the back of his throat.

It was just like Sacramento all over again, the monster seeping through his pores and changing his shape. Except there was no basketball court, no knife slicing through the air, no broken body lying still on the asphalt, no guilt eating him from the inside like a maggot, only his own hands yet again hurting someone, someone close to him.

He felt his phone buzz and slid it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts. The unknown number on the screen made him squeeze the phone. _I hope your day is going well, Derek._

There was a war tugging him left and right. If his hunch was right—and usually it was about things of this nature—then he was talking to his biological father. The father Kit had tried so desperately to hide and shamed him for wanting to know about at every turn.

_It isn’t. Can we meet up sooner? Like right now?_

He stared at the text he’d sent, anxiety churning in his belly. And waited, feeling the breeze push his too-long bangs back and slither past the fabric of his sweat-soaked T-shirt. Feeling restless, he started for the edge of the woods, edgy heat boiling underneath his skin like a virus, and felt his phone vibrate again.

_Sure._

* * *

The parking lot was quiet and people milled about, plenty of witnesses if things turned sour, Derek mused as he stepped past the brick wall enclosing the lot. Since it was the middle of a Thursday, the amount of people was sparse but it was enough to settle the unease that was winding through him, that niggling little voice that insisted this was a bad idea, that this was stupid and he could get hurt.

He wanted to meet his father; was that such a crime?

Benches lined the outside of library building and he sat down on one gingerly, his ears perked for anyone calling his name. The air was silent, his tension palpable and apprehension painful, but there was an edge of excitement that coursed alongside his fear.

He’d been with Kit since was three. That was thirteen years, thirteen long, self-loathing-filled and lonely years where he could tell on strangers’ faces that he didn’t quite fit in with the Bae family, that he was interloper, and sometimes Kit _showed_ he didn’t really belong, when he’d affectionately ruffle Simon’s hair or have a B-film horror comedy marathon with Tori and offer only a clapped hand on Derek’s shoulder. And it didn’t help he stuck out even in a crowd of people; he was big and he was unmistakable especially when next to the slight, distinctly Asian descent Baes.

“Derek?”

He looked up from staring down at the branches of cracks in the sidewalk, lost in his thoughts, and his breath stuck in his throat. The man in front of him was tall and broad, wearing a dark v-neck and light blue jeans, and he looked so much like Derek in his bone structure they could have passed for brothers.

His dark, kind eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. “I’m Zachary Cain…your father. Would you like to go grab a bite to eat perhaps? I do believe we have quite a lot to catch up on.”


	18. A Conversation Decades In The Making

* * *

* * *

A Conversation Decades In The Making

* * *

* * *

Unable to stop himself, Derek kept shooting quick glances at the man in front of him from underneath his bangs. He was liberally spreading marmalade across his toast, appearing unobservant of Derek’s nervous staring. His stomach felt as though it would come up through his throat when Cain opened his mouth and spoke.

“What would you like to know?” He gave Derek an easy, soft smile.

A million and one questions sprang to mind but all Derek could ask was, “Why?” It hung between the two men and Cain’s expression changed, his eyes growing unfocused as he set down his knife.

“Why indeed,” he murmured. “I was not in a good place when your mother became pregnant with you. I had just gotten out of jail for vehicular manslaughter after falling asleep at the wheel and the things I saw…” He paused, his expression darkening slightly, and Derek tensed without thinking. “Anyway, not long after, Andrea announced she was, of all things, pregnant. She was ecstatic. I was less because it took me so long to adjust to being…a free man after so many years. I had to better myself. I sought therapy and began my own construction business. In the meantime, the rift between Andrea and I became more and more apparent.”

Derek shifted, dragging a wedge of french toast through syrup. “Andrea…That was my mother. Is she…?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask if she was still alive and crammed the wedge into his mouth.

Cain shook his head. “She passed away two years ago from a house fire.”

So she was gone. Just like Chloe’s mom—something else they had in common.

The older man shot his son a sad look. “By the time you were born, she was living with her parents again after I suggested we call it quits. I was more than adamant in being in your life, even if she wasn’t my girlfriend anymore, but she vanished without a trace a few months after you were born. I searched everywhere I could but…I didn’t find you until now.”

“Thirteen years later,” Derek sneered, unable to help himself.

Hurt flashed across Cain’s face, followed closely by shame. “I never stopped looking for you, Derek. _Never._ You were _always_ on my mind, always there in every thought, and to think, I _found_ you, after so many years. And right where I least expected, with the very person that hadn’t crossed my mind in well over eight years.”

“Kit.”

Cain nodded. “We weren’t overly close but his late wife, Kathleen, Simon’s mother, introduced me to Andrea, and so I knew _of_ him. To think he had my son. And never once contacted me. And it wasn’t like I was very private about looking—everyone who knew me knew I was searching for you.”

Derek shifted, uncomfortable. “I…He made it clear talking about you, asking about you, was frowned upon. Not exactly forbidden but it became very apparent as I got older, I wasn’t supposed to be curious about you.”

Cain closed his eyes. “Of course he did. He knew me only from when I went to prison and my strained relationship with Andrea, no doubt. But Kathleen…she knew me as well as I knew her. I’d known her since we were children.” He paused, dragging his mug of lukewarm coffee closer and taking a long swallow. Even after he set the mug down, his eyes remained closed, and Derek examined him.

He was not traditionally classified as handsome but striking in his deep-set eyes and large, slightly hooked nose, the strong brow-bone and the fat eyebrows, the thin mouth that was perpetually pulled down in a frown. When he moved back in his seat, the collar of his shirt shifted, revealing what appeared to be the edges of a tattoo.

“Are you a wolf?”

“Yes. Have you gone through your change?”

Derek nodded, spearing a piece of now-cold sausage and taking a large bite. Without looking up, he spoke. “Kit doesn’t like me running around in the wolf grounds but he can’t exactly stop me. He just—he doesn’t get it.”

“The wolf urges and the feeling like you’re going to die if you don’t run?” Cain’s dark eyes bore into him.

How could this man, who he’d never met before, read him so much more easily that his father-figure of twelve years? Maybe it was because they were one in the same: wolves on the inside and men on the outside.

How could he ever describe the rush of cold air filling his lungs, the mingling of scents, the exhilaration of running, the stretch and burn of his muscles to a man who’d never experienced the freedom of letting the wolf take over? Kit didn’t know how his skin would burn and itch and crawl, his teeth would ache and bleed, his dreams filled with feverish images of running shoulder to shoulder with other wolves.

“Would you like to come back to my house with me? I believe there’s so much more we can talk of. Unless, of course, you have plans with someone.” Cain reached for his wallet and pulled out several ten-dollar bills, counting out a tip for the waitress while he down the rest of his coffee.

“Just Chloe,” Derek admitted reluctantly, reaching over the table and snagging the lone piece of bacon left over from Cain’s plate.

“Chloe? Is she your mate?”

Derek looked away from Cain’s probing stare as heat infused his cheeks. “She doesn’t know. We’ve been best friends for so long, and she’s been dealing with this stalker all the sudden, I don’t think she’d take it very well.”

“She may surprise you. Andrea certainly surprised me when I told her.” Cain grabbed his jacket and waited for Derek to slide out of the booth, laying a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Shall we?”

The boy stared at his father for a second before nodding and together they walked into the cool mid-afternoon sunshine.


	19. A Father Wolf's Story

* * *

* * *

A Father Wolf's Story 

* * *

* * *

Chloe was never been the type of girl who pushed for information, especially from Derek, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about his father so soon. Part of him was still anticipating Zachary to disappear in a puff of smoke and another part wanted to keep his dad all to himself, this one thing that was his and his alone.

They walked for what felt like ever, side by side, in silence. It was nice to just _be_ without the worry of awkwardness or the constant, brain-dulling chatter to fill the quiet.

“What was it like…when you met my mom?” he asked finally, unable to keep the question inside any longer.

Zachary paused before smiling, running his hand over his close-cropped hair. “I knew from the minute I met her that she was the one. My _wolf_ knew. Her scent was familiar and comforting, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.”

That reminded Derek of the first time he’d met Chloe; during Tori’s twelfth birthday party, Liz had dragged along a girl he’d seen sparsely around the house but had never officially met. Despite having probably been around all the other girls, she seemed nervous, shy even but as the night wore on, she seemed to relax, enjoy herself more readily.

He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off for very long, glancing at her throughout the entire night, and her scent—a mix of sweat and green apple shampoo—had remained in his lungs long after she climbed into her dad’s ford Focus. It had lingered in the air, perfuming his clothes from that night, as his wolf instinct chanted for him to talk to her, tell her she was his mate, make her his, keep her, protect her, cherish her.

“How did you meet Chloe?” Zachary asked as they walked to his car and he hesitated, unsure.

“Through Tori’s girlfriend, Liz. It was Tori’s birthday party, and the minute I saw her, I _knew._ Every part of me _knew._ Almost everything I wear smells like her, and there’s nothing else I’d love on my clothes. She’s…something else. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who gets me so fundamentally well, you know? Not Kit, not Simon or the wolves around here.” He knew he was babbling but he couldn’t bring himself to stop; some part of him wanted to word-vomit about her because he’d never really told anyone about his love for her—yes, the big L, considering his wolf and the fact his feelings hadn’t diminished in three years—and he _wanted_ to shout it to the one person he thought could relate.

Zachary’s smile was soft, paternal, and it made something warm bloom deep in Derek’s chest, making his throat grow tight. “Would you like to see my apartment?” his father asked gently, and he nodded, unable to help himself.

* * *

Zachary’s apartment was, in short, a bachelor pad. It wasn’t filthy, not by any means; incredibly clean, in fact. Hardwood floors, earthen-toned walls and carpets. A large TV was mounted on the wall.

There was a fish-tank fitted into a large wall-to-wall bookcase that also housed tons of movies, mostly horror flicks, anime, and several hand-marked VHS tapes.

“Do you wanna watch one?” Zachary asked, gesturing to the line of stacked VHS tapes. Derek assumed they were movies, maybe pirated, but the hand-written titles begged to differ.

When he nodded, the relieved expression that crossed his father’s face was so fierce and candid Derek could almost feel it too. He’d obviously been scared Derek would say no.

He sat down on the couch, watching as Zachary selected one rather quickly, hurried to the tape player, and popped it in, a giddy, almost boyish smile on his lips, transforming his sullen face. As soon as the tape was in, he turned on his heel, crossed the distance between him and the couch in several quick strides, and sat down, trying hard to no appear to excited it seemed.

The movie began with a child shrieking, and the shaky image of something blue took up the screen. The camera swung, zooming in on a little boy who couldn’t have been any older than two or three, clutching desperately at a blonde woman’s arm to keep himself afloat in a collapsible pools.

There were various people milling about, chatting in clusters, other children running around; all of them were in bathing suits or summery clothing so it must’ve been some summer-time holiday.

“That’s Kathleen,” Zachary offered quietly, his voice barely a decibel above a whisper, his eyes transfixed on the screen.

The trill of Derek’s phone broke the quiet. He debated on not answering but asked his dad to pause the movie and picked up.

Rae’s voice came across the line too high and thin, sounding like she’d been crying. “Derek? Are you busy?” The sound of fabric rustling and a quiet click, dim conversations muted; she must’ve closed the door in a room. “So-something happened. Chloe—” A sharp, shaky inhale. “She’s—she’s _okay,_ I guess as okay as one can be in this situation but—what I _mean_ is she’s not hurt but she’s really freaked out.”

Derek clutched his phone tighter, feeling the ridges of the hard plastic case digging into his palm as he growled quietly. “Rae, slow _down._ What happened?” he hissed, painfully aware of Zachary’s concerned gaze on him as he paced.

“Derek,” Rae began in a quivering voice that cracked on the words as she dissolved into soft crying, “the stalker is back. He—I don’t even know how and it’s so creepy—Chloe’s okay and Lauren should be—my mom—shit, sorry.” She swallowed hard, inhaled deep. “The stalker sent her another letter, this time with a picture of her asleep, taken outside her room.”

Derek’s blood turned to ice. “Where—” he started but she interrupted him quickly.

“The station where her uncle works.”

He ended the call and turned to Zachary. “Wanna meet my mate?” he asked, already reaching for his scuffed boots.

Zachary stood from the couch, stretching, bones popping. “Sure.”

Derek grabbed his keys and together, they headed out.


	20. The Distress of a Wolf's Mate

* * *

* * *

The Distress of a Wolf's Mate

* * *

* * *

The police station was quiet but streaming with activity.

Nobody looked up as Derek made his way through the sea of desks, trying to spot a familiar face even as panic and anxiety rampaged through him, making his knees weak and mouth taste fuzzy.

A cold sweat sprang up across his skin as he caught sight the head of reddish-blonde hair and the relief that swept through him was fierce and sharp with an edge just short of pain. Exhaling deep, he headed over to Lauren as quickly as he could without running, heart hammering and something tangy filling his mouth.

“Lauren.” It came raspier than he would’ve liked, emotion making his throat tight, and she turned, her eyes widening when she saw Zachary at his side.

“Where is she?” he asked before she could speak, pressing in closer than he normally would’ve, barely stopping the words from coming out a growl. His wolf was there, screaming at him, and he tilted his head up to drag in quick pulls of the air, searching for her green apple shampoo and found it.

Without another word Derek followed the scent, his father keeping the brisk pace he’d set easily, and found himself staring at her uncle’s closed office door. His hand trembled when he wrapped it around the handle and pushed the door open and he leaned against Zachary’s shoulder without thinking about it. Seeking comfort, reassurance.

The scents of both his mate and father soothed the wolf.

Chloe didn’t see him at first and jumped when she turned her head as he rushed into the room, wrapping his arms around her. She didn’t speak, simply dug her fingers painfully into his lower back as she returned the embrace and all he could hear was her soft sobs.

He climbed onto the day-bed with her, curled himself around her small body in a manner that probably wasn’t appropriate for his father’s eyes, and ran his nose in an undeniably lupine gesture from her temple to the base of her neck.

Letting their scents mix.

Putting his scent on her so that all other wolves would know she was _his._

“D-Derek?” she asked after a lifetime, her voice reedy and thin from crying, as she pulled her face away from his shoulder, a string of mucus following her before becoming too thin and snapping. Her face was wet with tears, her nose dripping down her lips, her hair matted to her sweaty forehead.

He looked at her and pressed a single kiss to the top of her head over her sticky bangs, smelling her hot skin there, inhaling the familiar notes of her sweat. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered when he found his voice past the emotion choking him.

“Who’s he?” She turned, her cheek pressing against his chest as he adjusted their position so she lay across his lap. Her hands were balled into the fabric of his hoodie.

“My dad. Chloe, this is my dad. I, uh, Zachary, this is Chloe.”

Zachary’s expression remained kind as he slowly came forward, his dark eyes riveted on Chloe but there no hint of malice from him. Simply watching, observing.

Derek felt his cheeks begin to burn under his father’s stare but couldn’t bring himself to snarl at him. Maybe he was looking into a mirror of the past, seeing himself and Andrea.

“It’s nice to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances,” Zachary said in a low voice without moving from his spot, his face shadowed as light spilled in from the hallway.

“I, uh, it’s nice to meet you too. I-I’m sorry about this. I just—I don’t know how much Derek’s told you about what I’m going through right now,” Chloe started to babble, her hands tightening in Derek’s hoodie until the fabric pinched some of his chest hair.

“Ssh. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell him,” he whispered against her temple, feeling her sag like all the strength had left her, and she pressed her face into his shoulder again. She just laid there, resting, and her hands eventually fell out of his hoodie and wrapped around just above his waistband, squeezing gently.

Zachary quietly took the seat across from them, right beside Ben’s desk, and didn’t speak. “Who’s scent is that?” he asked after a long time of staring down at the floor.

“What?” Derek had to keep his voice a whisper.

His dad lifted his head, giving him a confused, incredulous look. “The one all over Chloe’s hands. It smells familiar like burnt leaves and lime. Can you not smell it?” He raised an eyebrow.

Derek dipped his head down, catching her fingers between his, and brought it to his nose. Just as his father had mentioned, there was an unfamiliar scent on her skin.

His wolf went crazy, making him clench his jaw against the rush of jealousy, rage, and concern that roiled through him with the fierceness of a torrential downpour.

Zachary was quiet, head bowed, fingers steepled against his mouth. He didn’t speak for a long time as Derek’s mind raced, struggling to place the scent and figure out why it was only on her hands.

“Her letters. I mean, the stalker’s letters. She opened one right before Rae called. That what it must be,” Derek said finally.

Zachary didn’t respond, his eyes closed as his eyelids flickered. His brows furrowed as his nostrils flared again and again in sync with his even breathing.

It was as the door opened again that he spoke, Lauren and Ben filling the doorway at his back. Past the brother and sister crowding the doorway was Steve and Jacinda, the yellow tint of her eyes a clear indication that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check.

“I think,” Zachary said after the long silence, his eyes piercing into Derek’s, “that the scent belongs to the wolf killing those who deems unsightly. I’ve happened across it too, at the crime scenes I’ve passed in town.”

“Chloe’s stalker is the serial killer wolf?” he croaked and watched his father nod.

Against his chest, his mate let out a quiet whimper and all he could do was hold her tighter.


	21. Shattering Of A Boy's Already Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please be kind with Derek and Kit's relationship in this chapter. It's heavily based on my own feelings, my own experience, of reconnecting with a mother I didn't grow up with. In a way, I've stepped into the characters' shoes with my trauma and have used this scene as a coping mechanism of sorts.

* * *

* * *

Shattering Of A Boy's Already Broken Heart

* * *

* * *

Chloe had a pinched, anxious look on her face that Derek had never seen before. Once she calmed down, her uncle and several other officers began questioning her, setting his wolf on edge to have his mate ripped away from him so soon after he’d seen her so distraught and frightened, and it had him snarling unintentionally.

Her laying her hand on his leg immediately calmed him, his cheeks blazing under the too-long fringe of his bangs at how he’d lost control like a mere puppy, and he focused on her, ignoring everyone staring at them.

The blue of her eyes was enchanting and crystalline, gazing back at him, reminded him of quieter days, where he didn’t have to constantly worry about her safety and stay a step ahead of an unknown killer.

“We’ll set up a squad car to patrol your area but, since we have no actual leads aside from the letter and the photograph, we can’t actually arrest anyone. We’re at a dead end.”

 _U ntil he or she actually shows up,_ Derek thought sourly, clenching his jaw against the almost violent rush of anger. It was all so unfair, watching his mate be terrified out of her mind constantly and not being able to do anything to protect her short of becoming her personal guard dog, watching as even the authorities were left hand-tied due to lack of evidence.

It left a sour taste in the back of his throat as they reluctantly left the police station.

Kit was quiet, watching Zachary with suspicious eyes, and Derek swallowed against his growing rage that threatened to seep out. If what Zachary said was true, he _knew_ about Derek’s dad, about how he’d been searching for him for his entire life, and had hidden him away. He wanted to confront Kit, wanted answers, wanted the truth, not half-veiled, vague responses that he’d been showered with any time he got too curious.

“I’m s-sorry I-I interrupted your time with your dad,” Chloe whispered apologetically, her eyes cast down to stare at where she dragged the toe of her sneaker across a crack in the sidewalk.

He stopped dead in his tracks and faced her, his back to Kit, Lauren, and Zachary as he cupped her jaw in his hands and turned up her tear-splotched face, her glossy eyes gazing back at him. Her jaw flexed against his palms as she fought tears, sniffling juicily, her lips trembling with effort.

“Chloe, you are _the_ most important thing to me. If something happened to you…” He cleared his throat against the emotion that threatened to crush his windpipe. “You’re everything to me.” His heart thumped against his chest, blood roaring in his ears and flooding into his cheeks as her eyes widened once she took in his words.

Her entire face went beet-red.

Derek knew he wasn’t one for words so seeing her reaction, knowing he’d gotten his message across, made every tense muscle in his body relax as she wrapped her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest. Her body trembled, her little hiccuping sobs breaking his heart but she shook her head when he went to apologize, whispering instead that she was okay, that she was a little shocked but she was happy.

Her fingers laced between his, an action that sent his heart hammering even more, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smelling her green apple shampoo, and his wolf purred. When she pulled away, wiping her face on the oversized sleeve of her sweater, she kept her hand in his, and when he saw the look on his father’s face, he bit the urge to grin like an idiot.

His wolf, although still on edge about everything going on, was happy.

“So this is who you met.”

Kit’s voice pulled him out of his momentary happy bubble and he couldn’t stop the slight snarl that escaped him as the two of them returned to the adults.

“So what?” He couldn’t push the petulant tone out of the words if he tried as he met the sorcerer’s eyes, which made him feel as though he’d done something very wrong and very stupid.

Kit’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he replied, “So he suddenly drops back into your life eleven years later and you trust everything he says without hesitation…is that it? He _left_ you, Derek. He—”

“Didn’t want me, right?” He clenched his hand around Chloe’s as his wolf bristled, the snarling and chant of _betrayer_ ringing through his ears like none other. His heart started to pound again, adrenaline and anger running through him not unlike a barbed lance, as he bit the inside of his cheek.

Through little gestures, whenever a curious Derek got the courage to ask what happened to his father, Kit would make it very clear Zachary didn’t want him, hadn’t wanted the burden of a child. And what was a child to do but assume _he_ was the problem, that somehow, he wasn’t enough for his dad to want around? And he’d carried that weight, even now, feeling like an outsider in the family that had adopted him.

He was a freak compared to the Baes, a menace to society. No magic, no spells or incantations, no runes or tattoos, just wolf teeth and wolf danger for him. He was dangerous, a monster. He could remember with crystal clarity the look on Kit’s face when he’d seen the boy in the hospital after Derek threw him off Simon, the fear flashing in his eyes when he saw Derek late that night, the wariness, like he didn’t know Derek, like he saw Derek for the monster he’d always been scared to be, like he wasn’t Kit’s son.

And maybe he’d never been.

Kit’s dark eyes searched Derek’s. “I raised you to be a smart, capable young man, Derek. If you wanted to know who your—”

Derek’s answering snarl was loud and booming, making heads turn. “You _kept_ him from me for eleven fucking years. My father. I know I was never—A wolf is all I’ll ever be to you, a monster. I have a right to talk to him if I want to. What kind of person _hides_ their kid’s parent away from them? And reminds them every day they weren’t wanted? Do you have _any_ idea what that did to me?”

Kit licked his dry lips, his eyes darting over to where Zachary stood calmly, and spoke quietly. Softly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Derek’s lip curled over his teeth as he snarled again, lower, throatier. He could feel his claws threaten to burst form his fingertips. “Well, you did. And nothing you say or do is going to fucking fix eleven years of hurt.”

Chloe squeezed his hand, wrapping her other one around his arm. The familiar scent of her calmed him if only by a fraction as he took a step from the man he’d called his dad for so long.

“Derek, please. I love you. Don’t be like this.” Kit was looking at him like he’d betrayed him.

Derek’s heart clenched at the sight but his anger and stubbornness won out in the end. “Don’t be like this? Like what? Angry that you kept my father from me and have the nerve to act like you did nothing wrong? _You_ _love me?”_ He scoffed, unable to help himself. “If you did, you wouldn’t have hurt me.”

He let go of Chloe’s hand, unable to keep his claws from extending, and met Kit’s eyes, disbelieving and wide before they narrowed.

“This is his fault. He’s feeding you all these lies.” Kit sounded so sure that Derek couldn’t stop the harsh, angry laugh that escaped him.

“Lies? At least he’s telling me something other than, ‘your father didn’t want you’ for eleven years straight!” he growled. “You’ve done nothing but make me feel like a monster, like—like I’m a danger!”

“I couldn’t trust you after you broke that boy’s back in Sacramento. You’re dangerous, Derek. More dangerous than Tori, who’s got sorcerer and witch blood. More dangerous than your little girlfriend over there who raised an entire forest of dead animals. You turn into a monster every month, Derek. You have to realize that I have to take precautions to protect my kids.”

As Derek stared at Kit, at a loss for words, he felt the hot burn of tears but blinked them back desperately. When he found his voice, it was a broken, tattered thing that escaped his mouth full of razor teeth. “So I'm not one of your kids who needs protecting, am I? A monster, huh? The only fucking monster I see is _you_ , Kit. I’d gladly chose Zachary than someone who raised me and called me a monster, who told me I wasn’t wanted and made damn sure I felt I wasn’t wanted by his family either.” A broken sob escaped him without his permission as he turned and stalked away, Chloe following him and ignoring her aunt, Zachary bringing up the rear.

As they climbed into Zachary’s car, his body trembling as the confrontation and words sank in, he could still see Kit’s white face, his drawn brows, his thin mouth, and somehow, that hurt the worst.

That the only man he’d known as a dad had never wanted him and thought he was a dangerous monster just like everyone else.


	22. A Wolf's Center Is Its Pack

* * *

* * *

A Wolf's Center Is Its Pack

* * *

* * *

Derek, above anything else, hated showing weakness. In the back of his father’s car, his mate wrapping her arms around him, he fought against the hot rush of tears that prickled at the back of his eyes like knife points but they trailed down his cheeks despite his best efforts.

Chloe didn’t say anything, just pressed herself tight against his side, ran her hands through his hair, rubbed his back.

Her green apple and body odor scent filled his lungs as he turned and pulled her into his lap, buried his face in his hair, squeezing her hard. Full-body sobs shook him, wracked through him with an intensity that jolted him, as hot tears poured down his face, soaked into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into the sensitive skin of his throat, wiggling closer until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

The car was quiet, aside from his crying, her quietly murmuring sweet nothings to calm him and whatever music was playing on the radio. His father didn’t say anything and for that he was grateful. He didn’t think he could deal with speaking right now.

* * *

His eyes felt swollen and gritty when the tears finally ebbed and the sobs diminished. He sniffled, pulling away from Chloe, and wiped his face roughly on the sleeve of his jacket, inhaling slowly to calm his hiccups.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw and peering up into his eyes.

His heart swelled with love for her as he pushed a lock of hair away from her face with his knuckle. How did he deserve such a loving mate? “I will be,” he managed, grimacing at how raw and raspy he sounded, the words scraping the inside of his throat.

When he glanced out the window, he recognized the apartment building—Zachary’s apartment. Chloe climbed out first, hovering while he unbuckled and followed her, stretching his arms high and shaking his hair out of his aching eyes, pushing his bangs back.

Zachary stood nearby, fiddling with something on his phone and only looked up when Derek cleared his throat. Smiling apologetically, he put his phone back into his pocket and walked closer. “Sorry,” he said.

Just as Derek made to reply, a high-pitched pop song interrupted him. Chloe’s ringtone. She flushed pink and fished her phone out, answering the call within seconds and wincing. Even from the distance that Derek stood at, he could hear Lauren hollering at the top of her lungs, threatening to call her uncle and her dad.

“He needs me right now,” Chloe argued sharply, “so no, I’m sorry, but I’m staying with him.” Lauren responded with something he couldn’t make out, just the tone of her voice which was a mix of concern, anger, and understanding. “I know but I need to be here for him. I’m not going to abandon him especially after what Kit said.”

Derek could feel the embarrassment and guilt creep in. Yet again he was the source of a fight between his mate and her aunt without even doing anything. And here he’d thought they might’ve been making headway, might’ve been making some sort of progress. He clenched his jaw against the battering ram of emotion that was tightening his sore throat.

Once the call ended, Chloe reassuring her aunt that she would call her back if something happened, Zachary lead them into his apartment, tossing that he’d order something to eat.

Derek beelined for the couch, sinking into the cushions as Chloe hovered uncertainly before she stepped between his spread legs and kissed the top of his head. He responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the soft skin of her stomach until she tapped him shoulder, signaling for him to let her go. She gave him an apologetic smile before explaining she needed to pee and headed down the hallway at his direction.

Sitting there alone, specifically with his wild maelstrom of thoughts, the enormity of everything hit him like a gunshot. His hands tightened, fingertips digging into his kneecaps until it hurt too much; he found his claws had extended out of his nails. So even his own body was betraying him now. His body trembled and shook as the hurt, the rage, the betrayal surged. He gasped for breath against the flood of tears and sobs that wracked through him. There was a fierce tremor in his hands as he brought them to his face, uncaring of how the sharp points of his claws scratched into his scalp.

He’d always known there was something wrong with him, always knew he was different than the other kids but for Kit to point it out and cement his insecurity? The one person he was supposed to have been able to count on? That wasn’t even the worst of it. _His kids,_ he’d said, not including Derek.

Another open wound to add to his growing list.

He pressed a hand against his mouth, keeping the desperate, wounded noises that threatened to leak out of him at bay just barely, as the tremors and sobs wrecked him. His nose ran as tears streamed from his eyes that felt so swollen he knew he must’ve looked like hell.

“Derek?”

Instead of responding, he choked on his own breath, his body jolting as the couch dipped beside him.

“I want to show you something.”

 _N o,_ he thought, his body going tense, _just leave me alone._

But Zachary wasn’t a mind reader and his thigh pressed against Derek’s leg, the calming balm of his scent relaxing the frantic wolf’s howling that had been drowning out all human thought. “This is from your first birthday. Andrea made the cake so that’s why it looks a little wonky but she wanted your first to be something she made with her own hands.”

In Zachary’s hands was a leather-bound album that looked like it had seen better days, the surface stained and scuffed and dented.

Derek’s soft hiccups slowed and his claws retreated but he remained hunched, peeking out of the corner of his eyes through the gaps of his fingers.

There was handwriting, small and cramped and script, that drew his attention. _For all the years to capture my son’s life — Andrea,_ the note said. Underneath was pinned a small polaroid of a dark-haired woman with deep-set eyes and a crooked grin. His mother…

Zachary turned the page, drawing Derek’s eyes to the first picture. A little boy in a highchair, his face covered in what he could assume was frosting because of the bright blue color, too focused on the half-demolished cake in front of him to look at the camera. Sitting at the table he was placed at the head of, the same woman as before, waving to the camera with a fork full of cake halfway to her mouth.

Derek slowly lowered his hands.

“She loved you with every fiber of her being, Derek. And I love you too. I never stopped looking for you. It breaks my heart—” here Zachary stopped, his voice breaking as he placed a hand on Derek’s gingerly, squeezing his knuckles “—to see how much Kit has hurt you. How much you’ve suffered _because_ I couldn’t find you. I never, _ever_ wanted you to feel like you weren’t wanted, that you were dangerous, a menace, different, Derek.”

The boy watched in muteness as his father began to cry, his heavy shoulders shaking, head bowed.

“I want you to know I love you, I have _always_ loved you, and I will _never_ stop fighting to have a small piece of you.”


	23. Good and Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Strangulation and violence

* * *

* * *

Good and Evil

* * *

* * *

They sat in  silence for some time before Zachary had to go get the food. “It’ll be okay, I promise, Derek.” He smiled as he closed the door. 

Not long after Zachary left, th e sound of a girl screaming and the shattering of glass jolted  Derek off the couch. 

_ Mate,  _ his wolf howled and his heart went into overdrive as he took off down the hallway to the bathroom. Chloe _ .  _ She continued to scream for him,  her voice frantic and terrified. A man’s voice told her to shut the fuck up. 

His mind was full of  _ mate, mate, mate  _ as he reached the bathroom but when he touched the doorknob and tried to twist it, it didn’t budge.  Bracing his foot on the wall he pulled the doorknob until he felt the veins in his neck bulge, tendons in his arm bulge. 

“Let me go!” Chloe cried out, followed by a loud shriek of pain.

T he door popped open with a crack loud as a gunshot and he rushed in, freezing and all he saw was red. The snarling that escaped him was all wolf and rage, his mouth too full of razor-sharp teeth. Heat pulsed beneath his skin, surged in waves, his body threatening to break apart and coalesce into his wolf skin. 

There was a man holding a limp Chloe by her waist, her hair hiding her face since her head was down, but the scent of her blood filled the bathroom. It dripped down her face from behind the ends of her hair. Almost as overpowering was the man’s scent, burnt leaves and lime. 

It was the  wolf killing women in town.

The man holding her looked unfamiliar—deep-set eyes and  wild blond hair half-hidden under a baseball cap, a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth on display in a wicked smile, his chin stained with blood—but it was his scent that was too familiar, brandished in Derek’s mind. 

“I’m afraid this angel is mine,” the man purred  in a low, throaty voice that grated like nails on a chalkboard.

“ Put. Her. Down.” The words came out raw and guttural as Derek’s arms spasmed and a thin coat of black fur pushed up through his skin. “ _ LET HER GO.”  _ It came out harsher, angry,  _ desperate _ . 

T he man cocked his head and grinned  before he lunged, Chloe still in his arms. Derek met him head-on, mindful of his mate, as they grappled  and tumbled. The man was bigger than Derek, broader, with scars all over his arms from previous fights that he’d obviously walked away from. 

A ll he needed was one minute of distraction, a mistake, a slip-up, and he’d go in for the kill. As much as he’d love to rip the bastard’s throat out, Derek knew how it would end for him. 

The  fight spilled into the living room. Derek stumbled  backwards in response to a well-placed kick  to his chest, cracking a rib undoubtedly.  The pain was second to his rage,  focused solely on his unconscious mate in the man’s arms still,  as the man licked his teeth. 

Just as he made to take a step, Chloe’s head swung backward as though her head had simply lolled, only Derek saw the determined glare of her eyes before she threw her head towards the man’s chin, connecting.  He dropped her with a snarl of pain and she rolled, stumbling to her feet. 

“ You vicious little bitch!” 

Chloe  dove behind the couch just as the man’s  chilling, maniacal laughter filled the room,  making Derek’s skin break out in goosebumps as  prickles ran down his back. 

“ Such a bold, vicious little pup, aren’t you?” the man teased as he walked closer slowly, his head cocked from one to the other with every step. His tongue flicked out across his lips, licking up the blood. Derek’s stomach turned  over. “ You want to know what the Cabal would’ve done to you for your disrespect? Taken your pretty little mate over there and make you watch as every wolf that wants her gets her. And then they’d string you up and torture you. Slowly, that way she can see it every painful fucking second.” 

D erek was the first to move. He darted forward and brought his clasped hands into the  blond wolf’s chin, knocking him back a few steps. When his head  snapped forward, blood dribbled down his mouth; his teeth had sank clean through his lip.  The blood made him look more manic, more feral and dangerous as the yellow in his eyes glowed.  His wolf coming out more and more, Derek realized as the man caught him well across the chest with his claws, slicing fabric and skin. 

The man was on the offensive now and lunged, knocking into Derek and sending them both to the floor. Derek’s head connected with the ground with a resounding thwack as the wolf put his hands around Derek’s neck and began to squeeze with a heavy amount of force, his knees pinning Derek’s hands down so he couldn’t pry himself free. Derek gasped for air, struggling desperately as his vision began to spot and his lungs burned, his throat grew tight. Something sour filled his mouth. 

He choked and rasped for breath, spit dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, tears welding up in his eyes.  Blood rushed in his head, in his throat just beneath the man’s hands, his wrists and behind his eyes in a pounding rhythm.  Heat settled into the middle of his chest and only grew. 

Ice-cold panic and fear rampaged through him. He didn’t  _ want  _ to die like this, on the floor of his father’s apartment, his mate somewhere.  If he died now, it would destroy everyone he’d ever cared about.  His vision blurred and started to darken. 

A nd then he saw a shape behind the wolf holding something and felt the minute his attacker’s hands lost their grip.  H is mate, his beautiful, enraged mate,  stood there, eyes wide but determined,  her frying pan she’d swung into the back of her stalker’s  head still in her gasp. 

Then she dropped to her knees beside him and pulled him to her, tears dripping down onto his face as he inhaled and gasped, his body trembling with shock.

“ Oh my god.” 

Derek slitted an eye open in time to see Zachary’s horrified face, the bag of take out spilling all over the floor, before he passed out.


	24. Gathering of Family

* * *

* * *

Gathering of Family

* * *

* * *

Aching everywhere and overwhelmed with the hot flood of tears in his eyes, Derek woke to the sound of his father and his mate’s quiet voices, speaking about him. He lay there for a minute, just listening.

His father and his mate, the two things he’d never thought he’d have in his life.

“His name is Liam Malloy. He’s 35 and, as far we can tell, has no family. He’s been charged with criminal harassment, assault of a minor, and attempted kidnapping. You’re safe, Chloe.” Zachary paused. “I’m sorry. This…this happened at my apartment and I wasn’t there to protect you or Derek. God, this is my fault.”

Shuffling. The sound of someone sniffling. His father or his mate?

“Please don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known. He must’ve been following us. Seen the fight between Derek and Kit. Not even my uncle could’ve known.” Chloe sounded so much more surer, more calm, than he’d ever heard her, and he couldn’t help but open his eyes to slits to see what was going on.

Chloe’s back was to him, her hand grasping Zachary’s in a white-knuckled grip, her other hand on his shoulder. He was seated in a chair facing the bed, his head bowed as his shoulders shook, his body heaving with the force of his sobs.

Derek’s eyes shut without his permission.

“I can’t—I can’t _lose_ him too. I can’t. Chloe, I’ve lost him once and that was all my fault. He’s all I have. I have spent _years_ looking for him and that hole in my chest has never gone away…until now. Looking at him, being able to speak with him, being a part of his life, knowing he _wants_ to talk to me…it’s more than I could ever had hoped. More than I could’ve dreamed.” A soft sound, maybe a choked off sob or a noncommittal noise from his mate.

“I know. Derek and I have been friends for how many years? Six? Eight? It doesn’t matter—what matters is that he’s the strongest person I know. I’ve seen him fall off a two-story deck and be fine. He’ll get through this. He’s stubborn as an ox. This is the same kid who insisted on not being knocked out for his wisdom removal.”

A snort of laughter. Shuffling, the squeal of metal against the sticky linoleum of the hospital floor. “Thank you. Can I…tell you something?”

A squeak of a sneaker turning. “Sure.”

“I’ve only seen the look on his face when he looks at you twice. Once on my own father’s face when he looked at my mother and in photographs of my own when I looked at my own mate. I’m so glad he has you in his life, Chloe. My sins are not his sins. My past does not define my son. My mistakes haven’t shaped him. And, even though he doesn’t say it, I know he carries around the wolf’s burden, that age-old struggle between human and animal. Especially now that I know what Kit _really_ thinks of him, he needs someone to support him and give him strength.”

There was a lull of quiet.

“Y-you thi-thin-ink that’s me?” Chloe squeaked.

Derek couldn’t help but open his eyes, watching them.

“No.” Zachary shook his head slowly. “I _know_ it’s you. The way you comforted him in the car, insisted on staying, saved his life. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re who he needs. Given, of course” —here he looked sheepish and embarrassed, running a hand through his close-cropped black hair— “that you want to be in his life like that.”

“More than anything.”

He was surprised at the fierce note in her voice. Since the minute they met, he’d known that she was it for him. There’d be no one else. Just her. And in all those years of being friends, her confidante, content with being close to her any way he could, never once toeing the line of their friendship, he’d never entertained the notion she might’ve wanted him. She’d never given any signs. Maybe he was just really oblivious.

Zachary looked as though he was about to respond when his eyes met Derek’s and he got to his feet. “You’re awake! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Not here,” Derek croaked, unable to stop himself, “it’ll draws flies.”

His father and mate stared at him in abject disbelief. A thin laugh bubbled out of Chloe as she crossed the distance and half-fell onto him, her arms like steel bands around his shoulders. Something hot seeped into the crook of his neck where he lay. She was crying.

“You big, dumb _asshole_ !” she snarled when she pulled away, her face tear-streaked, nose running heavily. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful. “He could’ve _killed_ you! Do you understand that?” She hiccuped, a sob catching in her throat, as the what had happened seemed to hit her and she collapsed against his chest, half-lying on the hospital bed with him.

“I know,” he whispered into her hair, “but I couldn’t let him hurt you. If there was just a chance of you escaping alive, I…” He stopped, a lump in his throat, when he looked up and saw Simon standing in the doorway, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“How—” he began.

A head of dark hair peered around the corner. Of course. Tori must’ve find out through her witch stuff. Or however she magically found out the latest news before someone could even open their mouth about it.

He managed a half smile as his siblings hurried through the door, slowing when they noticed Zachary standing next to the bed. Simon looked as though he was about to say something but Tori elbowed him hard enough to make him double over and strode forward without batting an eyelash. That was his sister.

“So you’re Derek’s dad.” The way she said it left no room for argument. She didn’t look angry or suspicious; her face, for once, was relaxed and calm. Neutral.

As she stood, her head titled back so she could look into his father’s face, Derek noticed little things that were off about her. How wild her hair was. The smudges of eyeliner and mascara underneath her eyes. Faint tear tracks on her cheeks. How twisted and rumpled her T-shirt and ripped jeans looked. The too-big sneakers with their untied laces on her feet.

And then he looked at Simon. His drawn, pinched face, bone-white. The redness around his eyes, bloodshot in their own right. The disarray of his hair, hanging low in his face. His T-shirt half-caught in the waistband of his jeans, the fly down.

“If Derek likes you—”

Tori speaking brought Derek back to the present, his sister facing off with his father. His gut clenched.

“—I guess you’re okay. He’s a great judge of character. Probably by smell.” She gave him a thin smirk. Her joking about his werewolf genes was her way of trying to slide back into normalcy.

He reached for her then and surprise flashed across her face. High color flooded her cheeks in patches and down her neck as she came closer reluctantly. Chloe stepped away, wiping her face free of tears and snot, and his sister took her place, her mouth pursed and a crease between her brows.

She could look bitchy all she wanted, Derek decided as her hand slid into his hesitantly, but he knew if the roles were reverse, he’d be beside himself. Her body went tight, stiff, when he wrapped his arms around her, the familiar scent of her perfume in his lungs.

Like a string had been cut, she relaxed all at once and her fingers twisted into a fist in the scratchy, thin fabric of his hospital gown. “Moron,” she whispered in a tight voice, “don’t you ever do something so reckless again!”

He shook his head. “I have no intentions to, Tori.”


	25. Life After

* * *

* * *

Life After

* * *

* * *

Derek’s body, despite  all his werewolf healing, still ached a month later, he found  as he got ready for his therapy session with Dr. Gil. Zachary had convinced both him and Kit to attend  therapy to help ease the hurt of everything that had been said the day Liam Malloy showed up. 

Derek, at first, hadn’t been on board until he saw how much it worked for Chloe and her dad and stepmom. His mate had never hated her stepmom or stepsister but there was still some residual bitterness over the sudden addition of another woman in Steve’s life.  And the fact Rae had shown up to Chloe’s mom’s funeral out of her mind. 

“You got everything?” Simon asked from the couch without looking up from his episode of some soap opera. He’d been more slow to come around to his dad, especially once Chloe shared what he’d said, and had even sided with Derek. They were rocky but slowly thawing. Derek had seen Simon stiffly accept a hug the other day from Kit. Progress, sort of. 

D erek patted his pockets. Key, phone, wallet. “Yeah.” 

“Have fun!”

Rolling his eyes, he made his way to his dark-red pickup, climbed inside, and headed off to the therapist’s office.  He glanced at the bright blue sky and couldn’t stop the soft smile that spread across his face when he heard the song on the radio that always reminded him of Chloe. 

* * *

He parked his pickup in Chloe’s driveway and watched as she peeked out the window. On her way out the door, she called to Rae who he could see was standing just behind her and then bounded down the steps, a blinding smile on her face.

“Huh.”

Her strawberry-blonde hair had always fallen in a straight curtain around her round face but now it was layered in a wispy style and dozens of cherry-red streaks peeked through.

“ Well? W-what do you think?”  N erves shook her voice.  She hunched her shoulders as though there was a chill in the air. It was the middle of May, and the temperature was moderate. 

“ Hmm.” He stepped close to her, cupped her jaw to pull her face up, pressed his nose against her temple as he kissed here there. “I think you look good. Different, yeah, but good.” 

Her answering grin  took his breath away as she leaned up on her tip toes, her hands twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. Her mouth caught his gently  and his hands fluttered to her waist and tugged her close. When they broke apart, he felt his cheeks burn when he realized his chest was rumbling. 

That he was  _ purring.  _

Chloe’s large eyes twinkled. “Are you—” She stopped herself when he scowled down at her and held her hands up in surrender, looking entirely too pleased.

“Shut up.”

They both climbed into the car, windows down. The ride back to his house was full of her crappy weird rap music, talking about fuck boys fucking up her plans. And a bitch trying to make someone cry and lose it.  He didn’t mind it too much because he could see her singing along happily. 

S uch a change from how angry and hurt she’d been for so long. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked at stoplight.

“Yeah,” he said, “everything’s fine.” And, for once, it was.


End file.
